


Shaking the Faith

by pentuppen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Drama, Eventual Smut, F/M, Humor, POV Multiple, Romance, Slow Burn, This fic will never take itself seriously, Two trevelyans, bad language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-16 18:34:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8112964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pentuppen/pseuds/pentuppen
Summary: What happens when your Inquisitor is not the bastion of hope you were looking for? How do the inquisition cope with a Herald that would rather be anywhere else but at the breach?Micah Trevelyan didn't ask for the mark and he's seriously considering chopping it off himself if it will get him out of having to play the reluctant hero. But it seems that scary seekers and lunatic ex Templar's are not the only ones he has to worry about when it comes to doing whats right.A slightly different and hopefully amusing take on the Inquisition's story





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there just a few things about this story before you start.
> 
> I was inspired by two of my favourite authors when deciding to write this fic. I love George R.R Martins format of different POV's and his intertwining stories. While my fic wont have any red weddings there will be plenty of characters including some OC's that I'm hoping you'll enjoy.
> 
> Sir Terry Pratchett is also another inspiration here, which is why i must warn you that this fic will not be taking itself too seriously. While i intend to add plenty of decent plot, there will be a fair bit of silliness because I'm doing this for fun
> 
> This is intended to be a long project so i humbly ask that if you do like the fic, any encouragement or constructive comments will always be a huge boost to any writers confidence and will to continue.
> 
> While i have a fairly good outline of what is going to happen in this story, if the fic is established as enjoyable i will be happy to look at prompts and suggestions.
> 
> Ok thats enough of that bollocks, please enjoy!

**Cullen**

 

It was never easy. It didn’t matter how well the plan was made or how thorough you were, it didn’t matter if you poured every ounce of your guile into meeting all the variables and the ‘what if’s’, and it seemed to hardly matter if you placed every inch of your own hard won faith into believing you had done your best. You could spend days, weeks...even months preparing and the simple truth was that any plan could still be shattered in the time it took to draw a breath. In the space of one explosive green second the board had been overturned and the pieces had been destroyed as casually as if they had never been there in the first place.

What followed had been chaos beyond imagining and somehow he found himself in charge of a lot of scared men who were expected to fight creatures most had only ever read about. However brave they had been before this, however stoic and bolstered by the fact that they were doing the Divine’s bidding..the _Maker’s_ bidding, that was wiped away when the sky burst open and birthed it’s nightmarish spawn on top of a site most considered to be sacred, perhaps even..protected. He allowed them only a few moments to taste fear before he had them on their feet and moving again, his voice somehow carrying above the screams of rage and grief, knowing that it would all fall apart if he gave them more time to process that the spearhead of this cause had been snatched away, fear and anger would bite deep.

He had also been acutely aware that half his troops comprised of mages and Templar's who had remained behind while other delegates attended at the Temple. For now they were following his lead, shock permitting them to follow the first voice to give them any sense of direction while disaster still disorientated them, and if he had given them the time to think, how long would it have been before sword and spell turned from the demons to each other when newly opened wounds began to sting with that old, righteous fire?

He had done enough to keep them from running in panic, enough to keep them from turning on each other, and this had allowed them to fight their way towards the Temple, but nothing he could have said or done would have prepared any of them for the sight that met them when they reached the smoking crater where divine hope had once stood. Proud, indomitable, faith made stone...these words had seemed a fallacy given to a structure made into a beacon by those who had dared hope...how the awful truth shone back at them as they stood upon the smoking edges of twisted, blackened rock.

It had been just a building after all.

Now it had been contorted into a nightmare brought to life, the very mountain pointing almost accusing dagger-like shards of molten rock towards the centre of the crater, the very air filled with a light that seemed to pulse with an unnameable blight. Twisted bodies posed in agony, dying too fast to crumble and still glowing with that terrible heat, fingers curled..mouths pulled back to expose screams that were likely snatched away before they could claw their way from seared throats. Red lyrium sprang from the rock like sickened, scarlet sores and Cullen didn’t have to think too far back to imagine the kind of danger that stuff posed. 

The breach loomed above it all, its baleful green light twisting and writhing in fits. Just looking at the thing made him think of some hideous mouth that would eventually descend and swallow them all, it would not have been a great comfort at the time to know he was fairly close to the truth. A horrified silence had fallen over the men and women who had followed his lead, eventually it was broken by the low murmur of one or two voices, and by the time they had carefully made their way over the lip of the crater the low murmur had become an agitated buzz that he knew would quickly turn to anger if given the chance. Anger was all well and good when you knew all your men would direct it at the same target, but half his troops hadn’t been officially under his command and eventually this temporary hold he had on them would break long enough for several angry, heavily armed men and women to realise they stood among long time enemies. 

Mercifully, any potential outbreak of violence among the ranks was curtailed by one of the rear guard scrambling down into the crater to report two more rifts having opened up behind them. He’d quickly rallied them together again,choosing to leave eight men in the crater guarding the breach while the rest were divided between guarding its outer edges and following him to what had once been the main hall until all the walls had been disintegrated. With a target for their frustrations they seemed all too eager to follow his shouted instructions as demons surged out of the ground like an insane type of malignant weed. It had felt undeniably good to strike out at something that required no act of careful conscience on his part, for once the course of action was simple, demons had to be destroyed.

It could have been utter chaos but with their anger given a unified direction they worked well for a unit that had never trained together. For the mages it was likely the first time they had been given free reign to test the limits of their abilities. The Templars might have been forced to allow their natural enemies to cast dangerous magics beside them, but the almost infinite supply of an even worse enemy seemed to make up for it, and after the first hour of furious battle they had even started working in tandem. The bulk of his men were Inquisition soldiers he had been training himself, and he trusted them more than the others who were likely one misdirected spell away from remembering they were at war.

Still they fought on, the enemies plentiful enough that there really hadn’t been any time to remember who they were let alone who they had been fighting just days before. Blood, steel and enough magic to crisp the hairs on just about everyones neck, for two hours they fought as viciously as a pack of war dogs and even Cullen had to admit to feeling some pleasure in repeatedly slamming his shield into the screeching face of a demon. The tide of demons eventually began to slow though it never stopped, he knew better men and women would likely come up with better theories but it didn’t take the mind of a first enchanter to understand that as long as the rifts remained open the demons would keep coming, but they done enough to ensure that Haven would not be overrun.

Then the breach spat something else out into the crater and everything pretty much went to shit.

They were all starting to show the wear and tear of battle by then, some sort of fragile camaraderie still keeping them all on the same side, and though they were tired there had still been enough fight left in them that he thought they might well last until the Seeker reached them with reinforcements. Then the frantic shouts erupted from the crater and a runner had been sent up to inform him that the breach had dropped something else, something decidedly not demon shaped and probably unconscious. When Cullen pinched at the bridge of his nose and very calmly asked the man his reasoning for the definition of ‘probably’, the soldier had the good graces to look a little embarrassed.

“Weeeell we _think_ he’s unconscious, Bartholomew poked him with his boot and he sort of grunted but didn’t wake up”

Cullen had been doing his best to maintain his patience up until this point, mostly because he had been all too aware of several pairs of ears all straining to find out what had been happening back down in the crater. He couldn’t remember the recruits name right then, though he knew the face, he was a solid fighter and followed orders well enough, however his ability to give a coherent report right then was hampered by the fact that he looked ready to both wet himself with an overabundance of excitement or run in any direction that wasn’t back down in the crater.

With a very firm grip on the tail of his temper, Cullen had asked why they hadn’t just pulled the man up out of the crater, at which point the recruit had only looked even more nervous before pointing out that nobody wanted to touch anyone who’d been shoved from the fade by a strange glowing woman, certainly not when their hand glowed and spat green sparks suspiciously like the breach itself. The Commander had simply stared at the man for several moments while he tried to process that information in some order that might make sense, at which point the recruit well and truly dropped a tiger amongst the pigeons.

“I dunno if it matters Sir, but it looks like he’s a mage”

Cullen hadn’t needed to look behind him to see the ripple of disturbance this had caused amongst the ranks, a wave of low muttering had quickly swept over them, sizzling already frayed nerves and causing eyes to glance about with suspicion and wariness. Suddenly Cullen no longer had the charge of a whole unit, he could see people in robes subtly trying to shift away from those in armour while Templar helms were swinging from side to side trying to keep both eyes on all mages present. He’d been quite proud of the Inquisition soldiers at that point, most of them looked nervous but all of them had the sense enough to know something was about to happen, half of them already carefully moving themselves between the mages and Templars. They might well have been able to get away with it, he’d been about ready to call them to order with the aim of separating the two groups when several things happened at once.

Firstly the rift behind them belched up a few more demons in their midst which meant that the back ranks were sufficiently occupied with not stabbing each other, but they were jostling the front ranks in their efforts to push the creatures back, causing sparks to erupt from already tested tempers as limbs and old grudges began to tangle. By the time Cassandra arrived with more men, the mutinous muttering had become an angry buzz, mages and Templars now turning to face each other with accusations ready on their tongues.

And then it started raining demons, at which point all hell broke loose.

 

*****

 

** Micah **

 

He had woken to find cold stone under his knees and four heavily armoured men all pointing their swords at him, he had found this last to be somewhat excessive given that he was chained and only recently conscious, but they hadn’t seemed up for debating the matter. The last he remembered he’d been wandering the temple in search of something vaguely alcoholic. Being surrounded by unfamiliar Templars had thoroughly exhausted his ability to keep his mouth shut for his own good and he’d been sent away to find somewhere quiet before those helmeted stares drove him to committing a faux pas that resulted his head being taken from his shoulders. 

After that there was just...well, nothing.

He remembered the woman in that brief trip to consciousness just before he fell out of...wherever he had been, and even she was a hazy thought that swam in and out of the realm of belief right then. The rest was simply gone, not forgotten or even waiting on the tip of his tongue, it just wasn’t there. While even Micah himself might have admitted he was a bit of a fool, this did not mean he wasn’t intelligent, the two were not mutually exclusive, even if it was occasionally hard to believe in his case. He was not inclined to believe he had simply lost **_any_** memory that would result in him residing in a dungeon with men waiting to use their very shiny weapons should he so much as sneeze at the wrong moment. People tended to remember the events that might lead to a situation such as this one, if only so they didn’t do it again.

He did not sneeze but he did swear quite inventively when something sank a burning poker through his hand and the world turned temporarily green. His ‘guard’ did not seem quite as surprised by this turn of events, though they did look slightly nervous, this meant that he managed to keep all his limbs, but he hadn’t liked the way those men looked at him, as though he were an unexploded flask of fire balancing on a ledge. The reason became clear when his hand spasmed again and began to spark, the experience had been far from comfortable and he had been seriously considering demanding to know what was going on. The most he’d been able to guess was that he was in Haven, the guards were Inquisition but the walls were rougher than the fine stonework in the Temple.

The answers to many of the questions piling up beside him, came in the form of a rather severe woman who looked as though she’d cheerfully like to thump his head off his shoulders. As she broke the news of the temples destruction about as subtly as a brick and barked questions at him, Micah was given the distinct impression that here was a woman about half an inch away from snapping and decided to quell his usual desire to press buttons. Besides, he hadn’t been in the mood, some of the mages in that temple had been his friends. He learned that he’d stepped (fallen) out of the fade, that he had been on death's door for three days and pretty much everybody in Haven believed he’d had a hand in the Divine's murder.

In other words, this was not one of his better days.

The woman’s name turned out to be Cassandra, she was a Seeker, she also looked like she’d been running on coffee and adrenaline for the past few days and had positively vibrated with the desire to beat some answers out of him, or maybe just beat him in general, he was quite convinced she hadn’t been looking for much of an excuse. It had been the calmer and far more calculated tones of the Orlesian woman that calmed the righteous fire in the Seeker’s fists, pointing out that they still needed him. Though it saved him a broken nose, he had been no less cheered by the thought of these people needing him, nobody ever needed him for anything enjoyable, the last time somebody needed him he’d ended up at the conclave!

At that point the Seeker seemed to cool down long enough to take him outside in order to illustrate the problem beyond the temple's destruction and his rather badly timed appearance. Staring up at the breach had been like staring up into nothing. Not the sort of nothing that speaks of emptiness, no it was more like the sort of nothing that contained only darkness and a lot of somethings that were guaranteed to be deeply unpleasant. Looking at it gave him the distinct impression that he might just fall up into that giant swirling mass and he suddenly had more sympathy for newly surfaced dwarfs.

Cassandra had taken this opportunity to then point out that the occasionally agonizing mark on his hand was going to kill him if it kept expanding along with the breach, but on the plus side he might just be able to close the breach! It was here that he’d decided two things. Firstly Cassandra really needed to work on her delivery of bad news, dropping it like an anvil seemed to be her preferred method and his brain had started to feel a little punch drunk by then. Secondly, he didn’t have a damn idea how to close the breach. Did he just wave his hand at it, was there an actual spell? Or did he just do a complicated dance and hope for the best?

He also realised that he wanted to go near that breach about as much as he wanted to bare his arse to an archdemon.

Having every narrowed eye in Haven resting on him meant that admitting any of this was out of the question and he’d none the less found himself agreeing to help, if only because it was the only way he was going to get the damn ropes off his hands to begin with. Though Cassandra had not made the best of impressions he’d found himself rather glad to have her between him and the rest of Haven. People were angry, and he was a walking target for that anger, the word ‘scapegoat’ coming to his mind pretty rapidly. It was not the kind of mob anger that involved throwing rotten produce either, this sort of anger involved sturdy tree branches and ropes. They kept their distance however, Cassandra might not have trusted him as far as he could throw her, but she hadn’t been about to let them lynch him.

Now he stood on the other side of Haven’s gates, their intended path winding around the base of a cliff, Cassandra cutting at his ropes while he watched Inquisition soldiers running at cross purposes. Most of them seemed to be heading up the path towards the temple, but there were enough running back towards Haven with stricken expressions that Micah began to grow more concerned and he stuck closely to the Seekers side, at least until he fell to his knees when something sank white hot teeth into his palm and pain clawed its way from his fingertips to his wrist. 

By the time the pain abated long enough for him to see more than white spots behind his eyes, Cassandra was kneeling beside him, and for a wonder she seemed to be displaying what he so far considered a rare moment of sympathy. 

In Micah’s opinion there was plenty to be sympathetic about as far as he was concerned. Life at Ostwicks circle had been good, he’d had a home, decent meals and all the cerebral challenges a young mage could have wanted. It hadn’t been a particularly exciting life he would admit, but considering all that had befallen him so far, he’d been a damn sight better off. Then some dozy bastard blew up a chantry and suddenly everyone was being made to pick sides. Micah had been firmly of the opinion that he was on his own side thank you very much, an opinion that went down about as well as a fart in a tin suit with the current political climate.

In the end he hadn’t been given much of a choice, the circle fell and suddenly they were running from unleashed Templars and forced to hide out in caves, scrounging what food they could and learning not to piss into the wind. The running and the caves were generally speaking, not an improvement to the modest yet comfortable life he’d enjoyed up until then, and it didn’t get much better when the rest of the mages began to argue as to whether they should keep running or attend the conclave. Once again he was forced to pick a side, only this time it was easier, at least those who wanted to attend the conclave weren’t hell bent on proving every mage myth right by acting like uncaged baboons the minute they were out from under the Templar’s eyes.

“It’s getting worse”

Micah neglected to thank the Seeker for pointing out the obvious as she hauled him to his feet like a sack of potatoes, he shook the offending hand with a wince and continued to follow the woman’s back up the trail to where several soldiers were setting up a rough outpost on a bridge at the top. Now that imminent death appeared to have taken a step back for the time being, the cold was beginning to seep in and make itself known, the padded armour not really cutting it against a rather sharp wind chill factor, there were likely other, more pressing matters for him to be concerned about but since there seemed to be so many he was opting to deal with the more immediate ones. 

While the seeker signaled for another set of gates to be opened he tried jumping up and down to get some feeling back into his feet while blowing his own warm breath into his cupped hands. Something above him caught his eye and he paused mid blow, cheeks still full of air as his eyes followed the descent of a fast moving trail of green fire, at least he assumed it was fire, it was moving pretty fas--.

The bridge didn’t so much explode as crumble from beneath them, Micah felt his feet tip from under him and then he was bouncing from one rock to another in a bone jarring tumble, dazedly wondering if he was ever going to fall on something soft one of these days, and as if to add insult to injury he felt all the breath leave his body as the ice rose up to meet his rapid descent. When he could finally sit up without feeling as though he was going to shatter like a dropped piece of porcelain he could see more of those flying balls of fire, some of them smacking into the ice hard enough to send large, clear chunks flying, others landed in the snow where they sank and sizzled. 

Cassandra was on her feet of course, whatever else he might like to say about the woman she was hardy, he counted this blessing a second and third time when something dark began to emerge from a rising pool of green gas and sputtering fire. It seemed that the breach was not content with simply raining fire upon them, the demon unfurled from its explosive means of transport like the world's most unpleasant feast day gift. Micah very quickly found that his legs did indeed still work because he was currently backpedalling on them very quickly in his effort to get away from the thing.

There was always going to be the controversy concerning mages and demons, Micah sat very firmly on the side that wanted very little to do with the nasty buggers. His harrowing was a distant memory, one that he’d locked away in a very special box that was then unceremoniously dropped into the bottom of the well that was his mind. Demons scared him to a degree because quite a few of them were clever, it disturbed him to think upon a test of wills with an opponent who’d had far more time to get good at it. Right now however he was more concerned with this demon’s claws than its intelligence, it probably hadn’t enjoyed being hurtled through the air at several miles per hour and looked ready to share its displeasure indiscriminately.

To his immense relief the Seeker seemed happy to dive right in with a stunning shield blow that made him wince and grudgingly cheer the woman on in his head. He watched her bullrush the thing several yards away, she was relentless and clearly still very angry if the way she slashed at the thing was anything to go by. The admiration of his captors skill was interrupted by another of those strange fiery pools birthing an identical demon just a few feet to his left, Micah managed to scramble to his feet before the thing fully emerged but Cassandra’s back was to them and the thing was approaching. He looked around wildly for something, anything, but all he saw on the ground was a basket, a few random apples and a piece of cheese and with the demon still approaching he was seriously starting to consider throwing the cheese.

Then his eyes settled on a fallen branch, its bark bleached white, leaves sharp and frostbitten. Well it wasn’t a staff, but what was a staff but merely a focus? With no further time to debate he bent and snatched up the branch, already opening up the mental channels that tapped into his mana and collided with the words in his head, coalescing in his gut until he drew the growing energy into his hand, directing the spell through the wood and adding a little prayer just in case.

Once again several things happened at once.

Cassandra finally closed in on her assailant with a final swing that cleaved its face in two, it seemed to wither in on itself, what might laughably be called its blood seeping from its wounds in curling misty tendrils tendrils, like ink dropped into water.

His magic flung itself from his hands into the wood as though expelled from a slingshot, cracking the branch in several places and finally catching fire just as the spell launched itself at the oncoming demon.

The spell hit it’s target dead on, he might well have been impressed with his aim if not for the fact that he’d just launched a chain lightning spell. The lightning enveloped it’s intended target, paralysing the demon momentarily before it decided to wander off and bump into a tree for a bit, unfortunately it then arched and jumped across the ice to find an unintended target, Cassandra.

On the plus side, her resistances seemed to fare better than the demons and she merely received a painful but not debilitating shock, it was just a shame that the Seeker did not seem to be in the mood for any side that didn’t include puncturing him just then. She shook off the little aftershocks and threw a death glare at him before charging after the still confused demon, ending its brief war with the tree trunk skewering it with a strike that a viper might have envied.

She immediately turned on her heel and came striding towards him, blade pointed and looking quite a bit like a demon herself right now, Micah didn’t back away, but only because her glare pretty much nailed his feet to the floor and drew his testicles up into the region of his stomach.

“Drop your weapon, now!”

Micah blinked. He looked to the smouldering tree branch then back to the seeker, fear temporarily derailed in the face of this ridiculous command. 

“It's...a...stick, it’s on fire!”

He waved the stick about as if to demonstrate the true fallible nature of this so called weapon, only to have its dwindling flames burst to life again, forcing him to drop it and offer the Seeker a sheepish look that he hoped was charming enough to at least earn him a quick death.

“You attacked me, while my back was turned!” 

It appeared that this was the more pressing matter now that the dreaded branch had been discarded, Micah had to admit that her complaint might have had merit if he had actually meant to hit her and for once tried for some semblance of diplomacy, although it was liberally smeared with reproach.

“Look, it wasn’t aimed at you, if you can’t focus your spells properly it simply leaps for what your mind deems a threat, and let's be honest Lady Seeker, you’ve made quite a lot of threats today, it appears to have left something of an impression on my subconscious”

The truth did not earn him all her good graces at once, but her weapons relaxed and the look of fury gradually melted away to one that was slightly more understanding if a little grudgingly so. It occurred to him that the Seeker appeared to have little to no actual social skills. She was fierce, barked orders with utter confidence and she could be extremely scary, but in that brief moment when she was forced to confront that she might have made a misjudgement she seemed momentarily...lost.

“You are right, we have asked much of you and given little, but you must understand we are still reeling from the loss of our most Holy, your arrival and the unanswered questions behind it are undeniably suspicious given their timing”

He was about to point out that none of what had happened to him constituted as proof of anything other than having a bad day, but she’d already raised a gauntleted hand to quiet him and he watched her face change as she quite visibly swallowed a little of her pride, her jaw tightening briefly before her face finally relaxed into something that might well have been called striking if the woman behind it were not so severe.

“However i must keep in mind that you have followed me willingly. I cannot protect you from all sides and you should be allowed to defend yourself. If we cannot find you an actual staff along the way, there is a forward camp at the next bridge, until then keep close to me, and i shall try to be less...confrontational”

He somewhat regretted her gesture, he’d been quite happy thinking of the woman as some boorish bully forcibly dragging him to a pretty certain death. Now she was starting to show that she might actually be an honorable woman leading him to pretty certain death and that was a problem for him, because Micah had no intention of getting near enough to the breach to actually invite the aforementioned death.

He intended to run the very instant opportunity presented him with a way out in fact.

By the time the two of them learned to work in tandem--and they’d had to learn pretty fast-- he was actually feeling a bit of a bastard, but he was still a scared bastard who knew he had neither the power or the skill to do what they were asking, and he was absolutely not going to be standing there when they all realised he was no use to them at all. It was all very well guessing that his mark might be able to close a rift or even, maker forbid, the breach, but in truth none of them knew what would happen, he could get swallowed up into the thing, be turned into a melting puddle of grease on the flagstones. Or he could cause another explosion like the one that had destroyed the temple. 

No, he was not going to be banking his life on something that had a fifty percent chance of turning a lot of people (including himself) into charcoal biscuits, he’d take his chances elsewhere and if he couldn’t get rid of this cursed mark then he would get rid of the hand where it resided and and drop the damn thing into the nearest volcano.

They did eventually find him a staff, Cassandra rather gruesomely pulling it from the stiff hands of half frozen mage who looked like he’d met the wrong side of a green fireball and Micah surreptitiously wiped it on his pants before experimentally extending his magic. The draw towards the staff was far more controlled, his concentration and the staffs components making for a better focus. Mana and energy cautiously touched upon the staffs element, a warm sensation slipping up his forearm to indicate that fire had been woven into the wood and metal bindings. With the staff’s fire to send the demons fleeing in panic as they caught aflame, and his own lightning to stun or paralyse them, Cassandra was easily able to cut her way through the creatures that littered their path towards the forward camp. The wraiths were still annoying little shits however, they always managed to blindside you or hover in just the right patch of air to become almost invisible before they launched their spirit bolts at you. Micha found himself ducking and sidestepping a lot while doing his best to remember Cassandra was not his enemy as he cast his spells, she might have gotten away with a low charge, but the his energy barrage now consisted of several hard hitting bolts of flame and he didn’t really want to explain away cooking the woman in her own armour.

However part of him rather wished she was his enemy because then he would have felt slightly less like a cowardly arsehole when he eventually saw his opening for escape. As openings went it was a bit of a tight squeeze, and yet he had to take it because the longer he spent in Cassandra’s company the closer he came to developing a conscience and doing something monumentally stupid.

Not a chance. It might well end up being the honourable thing to do, but an honourable pile of ash was still ash and that was not going to be his fate. His chance came when the Seeker bull rushed another demon when it managed to run a claw through her armour, she was skillfully dismantling its face with the pommel of her sword when he started to back away, utterly absorbed, and trusting.

Oh he was going to the void for this.

He was turning to run when he saw a couple of wraiths float up behind the Seeker, and swearing under his breath he felt at least compelled to throw a barrier her way before he leapt over an embankment and half rolled, half slid down the other side.

He didn’t stop to check whether she had seen him or not, having made his first move to escape, he could feel panic trying to nip at his heels and he got moving before it could really sink it’s teeth into him. He didn’t take much care as to where he was going other than as far away from the breach as he could get, his feet starting a careful run because slipping and breaking his leg at this point would be disastrous. All questions of social graces and honor aside, if the Seeker found him now she would likely chop off all limbs except the essential one and carry him to the temple on a cart!

So the only true direction he chose was...away. Away from the breach, the seeker and all the people who wanted to see him swing like a festive ornament.

 

*****

 

** Cullen **

 

He could still hear the sounds of battle in the distance, but the clash of swords and the answering demonic shrieks were sporadic, which meant for the time being the men were holding back the tide from the rifts and slowing them down. This reprieve offered him little relief however, for three days they had been at battle and even with the assorted troops rotating in shifts they were getting tired, making mistakes and inevitably fuses were growing shorter. The number of deaths had been low but if things went on as they did for much longer then this would change.  
Therefore it was highly inconvenient that their Commander was currently kneeling on the outskirts of the temple's confines with his eyes squeezed shut and his fists buried in snow up to his wrists. Lyrium withdrawal came with a whole host of unpleasant side effects, the headaches were the most frequent, muscle pain could often be a common visitor, temporary dysfunction in motor skills and unexplained arousal were rarer (thank the maker for small favours) and of course there were the nightmares and the risk of death if the body was too weak to cope. Presently he was experiencing a new symptom, his own skin felt stretched and tight with tension, and though his cheeks were cool to the touch he felt as though he were carrying a furnace in him. His flesh felt so taut that he was sure that it should begin to peel and crack before it sloughed away.

The heat and the stretched feeling had begun when he’d been arranging the relief for those down in the crater and he’d found himself rushing through his orders before he could begin to start sweating as profusely as he surely should have been? He pushed himself to walk as far from the battlefield as the burning sensation allowed him to manage, his brow still dry but his body feeling as though it should have been exuding steam. It had been hard enough to admit his weakness to the Seeker, he could not risk the respect of the people under his command and watching him bury his aching face into a handful of snow was not going to instil anybodies confidence in his sanity.

It was blessedly, wondrously cool however and out of sight he allowed himself to fully commit to the fact that it felt like his own flesh should be melting off from the inside. He rested there in that blessed chill until the feeling began to wane and then finally fade. As he sat up and scooped snow away from the neck of his chest piece, it occurred to him that the cold likely hadn’t been any true remedy, he had a nasty suspicion that this particular symptom involved a problem with his mind, nothing that felt that hot should have left him unharmed if a little shaken.

For the last few months Cullen had been perpetually aware that he was taking a huge risk by combining his new direction in life with his attempt to resist the need for Lyrium. It was undeniably dangerous for a start, the range of symptoms were unpredictable and could often be violent. However his chief concern was his work with the Inquisition, he needed this to work, The Inquisition had not led him astray from the order, he would not blame them for his abandoning the Templars, that decision came with the fall of Kirkwall and Meredith’s lunacy, but it had been a huge leap of faith in himself to take on the task and he has always known that if the symptoms became too debilitating for him to effectively lead, then he had another hard decision to make.

Having to step away from the battle was something of a blow to his confidence, the episode had been strong but brief, and yet a lot of things could happen very quickly when dealing with rift’s that could appear anywhere, and if he wasn’t there when something worse came out of one.... Guilt appeared to be as much of a monkey on his back as the Lyrium had, the Seeker had done her best to dissuade him from this but since she wasn’t very practiced at being tactful she managed to make most of her pep talks sound like frustrated rants.

For once he attempted to take her advice and push aside the all too easily found guilt, he was tired too and he was still expected to lead them which meant he got even less rest because how in the void could anyone sleep with that much responsibility? He closed his eyes for a moment and let out a long sigh, feeling his breath leave him in a steaming cloud while he stole a few brief seconds of silence, the ring of steel presently pacified for the time being, only the soft thump of snow falling from the occasional overloaded branch to disturb him.

“Bollocks!”

Cullen leapt to his feet before his eyes were even open, suddenly sure that he had been discovered by one of his own men after all. When he did open them he spotted a figure at the other end of the clearing he’d hidden in , his back was to Cullen and so he hadn’t spied the Templar, then again he appeared to have stepped into a deeper patch of snow and was presently too busy hauling himself out of the suddenly waist high powder with his staff to take stock of his position. The Commander almost started to move away before his luck ran out and he was seen, when his eye caught the green glow reflected in the snow, his first thought being rift! until he saw where the glow was coming from.

He had not gotten much of an impression of the prisoner before he was carted back down the mountain on a hastily constructed stretcher accompanied by Cassandra, he’d been too busy trying to control his own troops when the sight of the mage incited an uproar, and that had been when the mage was still unconscious. The man had been of average height and appearance, his only notable features being the reddish brown hair and of course the mark on his hand, the last part had been particularly committed to memory when he’d watched it spark and pulse as if the light it exuded were breathing.

That light was presently bobbing around on the floor right now as the mage shook a few of the larger clumps of sticky snow from his legs. It was beginning to dawn on the ex Templar that the ‘prisoner’ was heading away from the temple, he was also unaccompanied and all of a sudden the Seekers failure to reach the forward camp was starting to make an uneasy sense.

The bastard was running!

The ‘bastard’ also chose that moment to look behind him and Cullen found himself staring straight into his wide eyed gaze a second before the man with the questionable lineage turned quick as a hare and bolted for the trees.  
,  
He didn’t bother to yell stop because that would have been a waste of breath when the man was clearly not interested in doing anything but attempting to become a dwindling dot on the horizon. He gave chase because there was nothing else he could do, out here there was nobody close enough to call for assistance and Cassandra’s last few messages made it quite clear that Solas’ theories had true merit. Since Cassandra had been all but ready to throw the elven apostate in the same cell as the circle mage, Cullen didn’t think she’d support the man if she wasn’t utterly convinced that it could work.

Which meant their possible salvation lay in the hand(s) of a mage who was currently legging it through the skinny leafless trees.

The weight of his armour and weaponry was not desirable for running in the snow, his boots were hardwearing but made for firmer ground and would do little to help him navigate his way through the powder that would stick to his legs and add yet more weight. In short, the mage might well have had a good chance of getting away from him if it were not for the fact that a fine mist of anger was was rising from his gut and filtering it’s way through the rest of his body, bolstering the corded muscles and filling his mind with the sort of determination that could knock down buildings. 

Getting started was hard and required the kind of ungainly foot lifting jog that you really hoped nobody was around to witness, but with every step his body was adapting, assisted by the simmering will that continued to grow as he kept his eyes on the mage’s retreating back. Keeping a lot of people alive during dangerous times was hard, but this was a singular and simple imperative that allowed him to place every ounce of his concentration on gathering speed against the clinging snow. The mage could not be allowed to get away, if the apostate was even half right then they could stand vigil at the temple for a month and it would not mean a damn thing, they would either run out of troops or the breach would finally envelope them all.

Cullen’s views on mages might have been forced to take something of a skewed turn in the past couple of years, but this didn’t prevent him from promising himself that this particular mage was at the very least going to feel the flat of his blade for being such a selfish bastard. He’d closed at least half the distance between them now on sheer will alone until he watched the mage disappear down a steep, snow buffered hill, Cullen pushed that little bit more to follow before he could lose sight of the man, reaching the edge of top and leaping a third of the way down the hill. When he landed he stayed on his feet merely because he was now on the type of incline that required you to keep moving unless you wanted to perform various unintended acrobatic feats when you fell. This also meant that he was picking up speed.

While the mage was indeed lighter and faster, he seemed to be ill equipped for rapid travel through woodlands and it was starting to show. He’d have been fine if he’d stayed where the tree’s were thin and pruned by the frost, but now he had led them into the taller and much hardier pines, and Cullen guessed that it was their roots that were snatching at the mage’s feet while he steered his path accordingly, constantly gaining ground.

Yes the mage was quicker, but he did not have the stamina of a man who had been training or in battle for most of his adult life, this was turning less and less into a chase and more into the Commander running the mage down. So far the mage had been sensible enough in that he hadn’t bothered to check on the former Templars progress, committing himself fully to putting as much distance between them as possible, it was only when the man did throw a neck jarring glance back at the approaching Commander, that nature decided to throw up one more surprise. Whether it was tree root or rock that caused his legs and feet to betray him didn't matter, the result was the same--a flailing of arms, an inarticulate curse and the mage rolling down a bank that was mercifully bereft of any tree or rock that might break his bones. Cullen put on a last ditch burst of speed, sword singing from it's place at his hip as he half jogged, half slid down the embankment after the tumbling figure that finally came to a stop in a still-cursing tangle of limbs at the bottom. 

Cullen didn’t hesitate, the second he was within striking distance he had the sword pointed at the mage's face while his body shifted sidelong, automatically making himself a smaller target for any erratic spell that might be thrown his way. The mage was tangled in his own scarf while trying to dig snow out of his eyes and it took a moment for him to sit up and fully acknowledge his current position. Cullen watched him blink and try to focus on the sword point which was now so close he had to cross his eyes to see it. Inevitably those eyes eventually travelled up the length of the blade to regard the man who wielded it.

There was a brief flurry of emotions that skipped across the mage's face, but they were too quick for Cullen to decipher and then incredibly, the man lifted his hands up in surrender and produced the sort of grin one might produce if they believed they were simply being a good sport.

“Oh come on now, there’s no need for such pointed threats, a man is entitled to a jog before he’s sent to his death isn’t he?”

He wasn't sure if it was the lack of fear or the almost jolly tone of the mage's voice, but somewhere in the middle of that sentence that simmering anger suddenly found fuel and erupted into full flame. Cullen was tired in both mind and body, death and destruction had been non stop ever since the explosion at the conclave, and he was expected to be counted amongst those that could fix this mess, and here sat this man, this ridiculous mage who was supposed to be the only answer to their rather deadly problem and he just...didn't..get it. His head was begin to throb in skull aching pulses at his temple's, and very briefly the idea of taking his sword and ramming it through that smile visited his mind. He ignored the compulsion easily, it was the same little voice that dared you to jump off a cliff when you stood at its edge.

“Throw the staff”

Every word was hissed slowly and came in the wake of a hoarse growl between clenched teeth, and he could practically hear the tether on his anger fraying in each syllable. The mages smile became less jovial but did not disappear as he made exaggerated slow movements to pick up his half buried staff and throw it as far as he could, Cullen making sure to turn his wrist just enough for the blade to catch the light, a warning against any sudden urge to try turning the tables.

“All right then, I shall take that as a no on negotiations. I still rather object to the sword pointed at my nose however, could you…?”

He very gently made a prodding motion towards the weapon in question, his hands still held up, that wretched smile still in place, as if they were discussing a spilled beverage or had bumped into each other on the road. Cullen felt himself snap just a little and he moved closer, his fist twisting into padded cloth as he pulled the mage almost to his knees, angling his sword arm back so that he didn’t actually impale the man. He forced himself not to flinch when a sickening throb threatened to force his eyes closed, it drifted away but he knew it would circle back like a shark.

“If the Seeker didn’t believe you were absolutely **_vital_** to our cause I would carve your head from your shoulders. Every selfish second you have wasted risks the lives of my men, you are coming **_back_** with me!”

He shoved the mage back, releasing his clothing as he straightened up, the sword tip once again honing in on the mage’s nose, Cullen taking a certain pleasure in the fact that the man seemed to have nothing more to say, the infuriating smile had also slipped somewhat.

“Now, stand up”

“No”

That singular word had the effect of staggering his barely tethered rage for a moment, his brain skidding into a thought pile-up in response to this unexpected answer, or more accurately, it’s tone. The mage hadn’t refused with defiance or fear, in fact the inflection of that one word was dripping with barely contained joy, Cullen couldn’t have been more surprised if the fade had suddenly dropped a basket of kittens in his lap. The anger came flooding back of course, once he’d fully registered the refusal, that dull throb finally turning full circle again, one razor sharp fin slicing across his brain as he grit his teeth and stepped forward again, barely aware that he had raised his sword now.

"If you do not get up now i'll bloody well drag you back, minus a limb if you force the issue, right now i don't really care if you come back willingly or not you selfish bastard"

The mage looked up at him in all his steaming rage and a very slow smile began to part his lips. It was a large smile in which nearly all his teeth were visible, it was an unmistakably smug smile and several alarm bells clamoured in his head a split second before something cold pressed very gently to to the back of his neck and every muscle in Cullen's body suddenly went still.

“If you do not drop that sword this instant Ser, by the Maker i shall take it from you and spank you with the damn thing!”

The tone and absolute confidence of that voice was so reminiscent of a revered mother that for just a moment he was 13 years old again, he almost dropped the bloody thing out of sheer instinct! While nothing short of his actual death was likely to make him disarm himself, he did choose to compromise by lowering his arm until its tip touched the snow, but this was done mainly because the metal at the back of his neck had a very sharp presence, it was not a display of deference to a voice that momentarily reduced him to his early childhood. There was a soft sigh behind him and that certainly didn’t bring revered mothers to his mind, nor did the voice that followed it, now stripped of its commanding tone, it send an odd shiver down his spine.

“Oh well i suppose that shall have to do. Now, i would very much like to remove this sword from your neck Ser, but i cannot allow you to harm him. If the rumors in your camp are to be believed you need him.”

The mage’s grin was all but tearing his face in half, and part of Cullen still wanted to rearrange it, but his anger was half hearted now, the shock of being blindsided having doused much of it. The woman was sounding almost reasonable while holding a blade on him, that took some skill, and even he had to admit that he had felt himself tipping towards old habits out of sheer frustration. He was still debating how to respond when she snapped at the mage who was getting to his feet, looking as though he was about to launch into a dance of joy.

“Wipe that silly smirk off your face Micah, it was a stupid idea to run and right now being a smug little shit in front of a pissed off Templar is just idiotic, I taught you better than this”

That tone of authority had snapped back like a whip and the grin fell off ‘Micah’s’ face like a trapdoor, the man suddenly looking mutinous, his expression fitting that of a boy who’s just been told off for picking his nose. Cullen could almost sympathise and wondered if perhaps the Lyrium hadn’t already driven him mad because this whole situation was absurd and he had an insane urge to laugh. Just as gently as it had arrived, the blade was pulled away from the vulnerable flesh of his neck and only then did Cullen turn very slowly on the spot and took two steps back so that he could keep them both within his sights.

His first impression was that her armour had seen better days, even the full helm looked as though it had been carefully repaired a number of times over the years, and all this really meant was that the armour was well used to doing its job. She looked to be only half an inch shorter than he was, and strong enough to carry a greatsword on her back, the shortsword she was now sheathing, rested at her hip, her stance neutral enough though he could practically feel the shaded eyes behind that helm boring into him and assesing him as much as he was assessing her.

“All right then, under the circumstances I think that It’s best if we return to your camp Commander”

“Will i be walking there with another sword at my neck?” 

He tried to sound amused but he mostly sounded indignant, this was someone used to giving orders rather than following them and he didn’t feel quite so ready to march to her tune just yet, even if she was being reasonable, which irritated him just a little because it was hard to intimidate anyone with that dastardly skill. She hadn’t even told him who she was and Cullen still wasn’t sure if this was a rescue, a hostage situation or if she were suggesting they all take a pleasant walk back to camp and talk about it over tea. His head throbbed again when the mage suddenly piped up, sounding equal parts indignant and excited.

“Angelique you cannot be serious, this man is a lunatic...a former Templar lunatic” 

The latter part of this statement apparently required a wild gesticulation of the mage's hands to emphasize his point and Cullen’s desire to hit him peered briefly above the waters of his rapidly dwindling patience. The woman lifted her hands and gripped the helm, pulling it off with a short sound of relief before she tucked it under her arm while narrowing eyes that came startlingly close to the colour of ice at the man currently shaking with cold or possibly umbrage at his supposed saviours continued failure to whisk him away from the mad ex Templar.

“Do not call me that”

“I woke up to swords being pointed at my face and everyone either shouting at me or wanting to kill me in my sleep, and they want me, to trudge up that sodding mountain and wave my hand at some scary sphincter in the sky so I can save the world. Well I’ll tell you something Angelique, they can shove it up their arses because I’m not doing it!”

The name was repeated, and this time it was drawn out as a clear insult, one that resulted in the woman holding up her hand in a ‘one moment’ gesture to Cullen before she dropped her helm, strode over to the mage and grabbed the back of his collar. Two seconds later she had him face down in the snow with her knee on his back, grinning through the loose hanging strands of copper coloured hair and suddenly Cullen didn’t have the heart to interrupt. She seemed content to let the mage flail his limbs for a little while before they flopped back to the snow with a muffled growl.

“You are returning to the Inquisition camp, you are going to try to close the breach and you are going to prove to everyone that you are the decent person i know you to be, or i will personally throw you into the bloody thing, are we clear?”

The reply was once again muffled but it was audibly resigned and this seemed to be enough because she got off his back and hauled him onto his feet by his collar again, before she turned back to Cullen. 

“I understand the importance of your cause Ser, but so far i don’t applaud your methods, not everybody gets to choose responsibility, and while he is occasionally an idiot…”

“Oh thanks!”

“....he deserves proof of his guilt before he is treated like a criminal”

He was fairly sure that he was being gently scolded and at this point he decided enough was enough and took a few steps towards them, the sword still held at his side but loosely for now, it was clear that the woman was at least attempting to avoid confrontation. She was of course offering a reasonable truce and with the clock still ticking he should really take it, but his natural suspicion and that lingering irritation at the woman's audacity was still leaving him indignant and possibly a little petty. It was a stupid and pompous gesture he would later kick himself for, but it was exacerbated by another ripple of pain that bloomed at his temple's and squinted his eyes.

“Just hang on a minute, while i appreciate the surrender what makes you think I’m taking you anywhere but to a cell. He ran away placing countless lives in danger, and you held a sword to the back of my neck, I’m not seeing why i should trust you at all, i don’t even know who you are, only that the timing of your arrival is suddenly as suspicious as his!”

She blinked slowly just the once and then smiled at him, he felt that odd flutter down his spine again and narrowed his eyes.

“Firstly we aren’t surrendering, we’ll not be walking to your camp in chains, secondly he ran away because you appear to have plenty of soldiers but very little tact and thirdly…”

Something shot past his left shoulder, ruffling the furred mantle to bury itself in the a tree just behind him, Cullen had barely whipped his head around to take stock of the quivering arrow when another appeared in the ground between his legs.

“....he walks up to that monstrosity in the sky with me or he doesn’t go in at all”

And with that she turned and began to walk back the way they came, picking up her helm along the way and utterly ignoring the presence of the sword in his hand. Cullen still hadn’t moved, the threat of another arrow taken fully on board, his eyes scanning the trees for any indication as to where the arrows came from, and then to her retreating back before they settled on the mage with an expression that was asking what the hell had just happened. Micah gave him an almost sympathetic look and even clapped him on the shoulder a couple of times.

“Ah yes, she tends to have that effect on everyone sooner or later, it’s bloody infuriating”

“I still don’t even know who she is!”

“Ah yes, i must have dropped some of my manners while i was rolling down that hill, allow me to introduce you to Angel Trevelyan, my sister”


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well chapter two is now out and the outline of chapter three is already drawn up and waiting to go.
> 
> In this chapter we meet several OC, i will do my very best to flesh each of them out as fully as i can so they don't end up as cardboard cut outs next to the canon characters.

** Micah **

For just a moment (and he really should have known better) Micah had actually considered the possibility that he might just make it. The first twenty minutes had been fraught with complete pants wetting terror as he ran through the snow, constantly tensed for a demon to launch itself out of the bushes, or for the gauntleted hand of the Seeker to fall upon his shoulder. After another ten minutes he stopped looking over his shoulder in favour of putting some serious distance between him and the temple. It was safe to say that he had not felt particularly good about himself at this point, being afraid of the breach was a justifiable point when you were being marched towards it while being accused of something you were 99.9% sure you didn't do, but when the sounds of falling demons and the distant battles started to give way to the muffled silence of the snow amongst the trees, guilt had slunk in and settled itself comfortably in his gut like a smug cat.

He’d almost turned around to go back the way he came once or twice but just hadn’t been able to make himself do it. Not only did an impossible task await him, he’d gone and proven himself to be about as trustworthy as Cassandra had assumed he wasn’t, and somehow that was worse than the fact that most of the people at Haven would likely want to do worse than hang him when they found out. He wasn’t a bad man, in fact under the circumstances he’d done his best to be a pretty decent one, but the Breach went well beyond the scope of his so far comfortable life and running had become an all too easy option after four months of hiding from Templar's in caves.

In the end he didn’t turn back simply because he’d come too far now, which tended to be how most bad decisions worked. 

In an effort to keep his legs moving he had begun to think on how to contact his sister, the rebel mages had been almost as suspicious of correspondence as the Templar's and so getting a message to one of her contacts had not been possible. He had been mulling over the possibilities of sending a message from Redcliffe when he stepped forward and suddenly found himself waist deep in snow, and then a moment later, the Commander happened. 

In retrospect it _had_ been stupid to run from the man, but on the other hand having a large armoured man running at you while appearing to be really annoyed would have provoked the flight instincts of anyone in his opinion. Of course his opinion tended to get him in trouble, case in point; pushing a Templar’s buttons until he _really_ wanted to kill you, that hadn’t been his most intelligent move today, but at the time his brain had been too occupied by a sword to keep his mouth in check.

And then she had appeared just as he imagined she would when he was small, only it hadn’t been to whisk him off on a mighty steed, instead she was marching him right back to the temple!

Most big sisters were practically licensed to be a giant pain in the backside of their unfortunate siblings, they were bossy, nosey and generally able to humiliate you without having to try. In Angel’s case she could probably still lift him over her head if he annoyed her too much, a feat that had stopped delighting him around the time he turned twelve. At nearly 6’3 she had something of an advantage when it came to winning a debate, as proven by the snow he could still feel melting out of his left nostril. It might have been easier to dislike her if she spoke with her muscles all or even the time, but she had a nasty habit of being so damn reasonable, that a lot of the time it was impossible to have an argument with her. Those carefully measured words somehow always lead you around to her way of thinking the majority of the time and he hadn’t envied the Commander one bit.

She still reminded him of their father.

He had _missed_ her, even if she was pretty much leading him by the ear towards a swirling vortex of probable doom.

As they trudged their way back up the embankment he could see that the Commander was still trying to figure out what the hell was going on, there was a half scowl on his face and he kept looking over his shoulder to the trees before his eyes would fix upon Angel’s back and his lips would twitch as if he were on the cusp of saying something, probably something along the lines of ‘who do you think you are’ if he were any judge. Micah might have felt sorry for him if he hadn’t recently become quite intimate with the point of the man’s sword, it was hard to really sympathise with someone who threatened to separate you from your limbs, even if he probably deserved it. The man was still walking carefully a few steps behind him in case Micah might have further aspirations in his short career as an escape artist, and though he had finally put the sword away he could see leather encased hands curling and uncurling.

He might as well have told the Commander not to bother. Running from nameless soldiers and the Seeker was one thing, they hadn’t exactly sold the idea of climbing a mounting and shoving his hand in a breach, running from Angel was a different thing entirely. She was a lone figure of stability in his life, her calm, patience and strength had been ever present even in his earliest memories, and she had taken her role as the elder sibling as seriously and enthusiastically as she had taken up the sword, much to their father's approval and their mothers dismay. Though he had never truly regretted turning himself into the circle, it had been her presence he had missed beyond anything else he’d left behind. With ten years between them she had been able to fill the gaps left behind by a constantly busy father and a less than attentive mother.

They had corresponded constantly of course, but each letter had come with its own hint of sadness, she was having adventures without him and he was growing into a man without her. On the few occasions he’d been allowed to visit his home she had always been there, despite the fact that being around their mother had always been an exercise of even her famed patience. Those visits had become like the marks some parents would etch into their doorways to count a child's progress in height over the years, each year she would be older, bore more scars and carried more stories around with her.

Sometimes they would joke about her coming to rescue him from his tower even though he didn’t really need saving.

Sometimes he had found himself wishing she wasn’t joking.

After the events of Kirkwall things had begun to grow rather unpleasant and restrictive at the circle. Visits were out of bounds no matter how many subtle ‘donations’ his mother had offered the Knight Commander, even his letters had been read before they were handed over, occasionally edited by the Templar's themselves. It had been two years since he’d last seen her and six months since the last letter had reached him, and after nine years in the circle it seemed almost surreal that she was here, about to fight at his side, just as he used to imagine when he was still a boy and the circle tower had seemed so huge and her written words had been full of so much adventure. 

Oh yes, running from the strangers was easy, they might only execute him, they wouldn't give him this sad disappointed look that made him want to curl up with shame because she has always believed he was a decent person, or at least that she’d taught him enough to be one. Knowing this didn’t make him any less scared, it didn’t make him want to mount the next path and he was all but certain that it didn’t mean this other mage’s theory was going to work, but it said something that he was would rather risk a demon infested Breach in the sky than ever give her cause to look at him that way and imagine she hadn’t done enough. Never again.

A tree root chose this moment of epiphany to bring him closer to nature, his foot caught and then he was eating snow for the second time that day. He felt large hands haul him to his feet and that was when the worst pain yet bit into his palm, forcing him back onto his knees. His eyes snapped closed but his vision filled with stark green afterimages that had stamped themselves on the back of his eyelids. It felt like his hand was burning to the bone and no amount of dignity or manliness would have kept him from screaming just then.

A moment later he felt metal fingers gently touch his face, another hand was carefully prising his own away from where it had curled up against his chest, so that ruled out the Commander for several obvious reasons. There was little either of them could do but wait until the pain subsided, leaving him to stare at his hand, not quite believing he wasn’t staring at charred bone instead. Now he was feeling _extremely_ stupid for thinking he could have outrun this, the mark really was going to kill him before the breach ever got a chance. He stared up into his sister’s furrowed concern and grimaced.

“I’m not going to lie, that one might have twinged a little”

He’d surprised her into a soft laugh but those worry lines did not smooth out as she lifted him far more gently than the Commander who was looking between them and the path to the temple, clearly itching to get them on the move again. 

**“Incoming!”**

The shout came from the treeline just behind them and by the time all three of them had turned in it’s direction, a green fireball slammed into the ground a few yards to their right closely followed by a second, their demonic passengers already beginning to loom up out of the steam on long, poorly constructed legs. The Commander had already drawn his sword and Angel’s shortsword sung from its sheath at her hip, having left his staff where he had thrown it Micah was starting to feel a bit left out. 

**“Down!”**

Micah’s legs folded underneath him on instinct, Angel dropping down beside him and dragging a bewildered Commander to one knee as something small and round sailed over their heads, closely followed by the wind of another arrow before it hit the glass bottle which in turn showered the demons below with Antivan fire. The high pitched screeching of burning demons forced him to place his hands over his ears and he glanced behind him to see two figures emerging from the trees. One appeared to be an elven male, he was already pulling another arrow from the quiver at his hip, eyes narrowing over the thick scarf that covered the lower portion of his face as he pulled back the bow and sighted his target.. The other was a dwarven woman who was perhaps a little too enthusiastic about fighting demons if the way she gripped an axe in each hand were anything to go by.

“Shift your arse hen, me and bright eyes here can clean up this mess, get to the temple, Mora will meet you”

Angel was pulling him to his feet again, he might have protested about being dragged and yanked around so much if his legs didn’t still feel like uncooked noodles. He expected the Commander to protest over the arrival of two new unidentified guests, especially since it was a safe bet one of them had shot at him not too long ago, but it seemed the man was anxious to get moving again, taking the lead as his sister nodded to the two figures and hurried him past the flailing demons, the smell of foul, burning flesh filling his nose briefly but unpleasantly. 

He knew who the man and woman were of course, he’d been reading about them and the rest of his sister’s people for seven years now, under normal circumstances he’d be full of questions, but now they had rounded a corner and he could once again see the breach clearly, all the questions drying up in his mouth as it suddenly sank in that he was really going to do this. If the narrative direction of most stories about heroes were true, he should have been feeling some sort of righteous surge of fortifying bravery, he was disappointed to find he only felt cold, bruised and pretty damn scared all over again.

He glanced to his sister beside him who gave half smile and nodded towards the vortex above them, pale green light reflecting off her armour as she lifted a hand to pull something from inside her chestplate. He knew what it was before he even saw the thin silver chain, it’s small medallion flaring from silver to green as it dangled between her fingers.

“Modest in temper…”

He sighed and pulled the medallions twin from within his own robes, the embossed stallion appearing to leap through green flame for a moment. Maker she always knew what to say, just as she knew he would always answer.

“Bold in deed”

*****

 

** Angel **

 

After two years spent trying to reach her brother she’d had plenty of time to imagine how their reunion might happen, finding herself in the midst of a demonic invasion hadn’t exactly been on the top of the list next to tears and hugging. Finding him in the first place should have been easy, Ostwick’s circle had hung on for as long as it could, longer than she’d imagined before the Templar’s and panic forced them to make a move and finally flee, but she had been delayed by necessary detours and by the time she reached the circle he was gone. At that point she’d had to send the majority of her men home with as much pay as she could afford to give them, she could hardly expect them to continue this wild goose chase while passing up good jobs with actual pay, they were loyal but they had mouths to feed.

With much of her funds depleted, buying information was out of the question, they had to rely on rumor alone, of which there was plenty. The mages had scattered like cockroaches, some simply escaping the rabid persecution of the Templars while others merely sought the chance for freedom amidst the chaos, creating more chaos in their wake. They had followed rumor as far as it would take them and it was simply sheer luck that they were crossing into Ferelden when news of the Conclave found them.

Everything in her bones told her that he would be there, she certainly wouldn’t be convinced that he was roaming the countryside along with the the other rebels, not when they were looting villages and killing indiscriminately just because they could. She’d seen enough of the slaughter to know he’d have had no part in it, so the conclave was the only place that made sense, she was just lucky that the other three agreed. She had told them she would go on alone, at which point both Aida and Nairn supplied several reasons why that wasn’t going to happen, while Morakai didn’t have to say a word she, just stared in that pointed way that always made you want to squirm. 

As she hurried towards the forward camp with Micah and the Commander, she had to wonder if perhaps they weren’t regretting the decision. Then she remembered Aida’s expression after having gotten to hurl a pot of Antivan fire at something, so the dwarf was probably having a good time at least.

The Commander led them across an ice covered lake to a set of stairs that had long since started to crumble in places, the sounds of fighting growing sharper. Squinting up to where the trails path led, she saw flickering green light shift over the exposed rock, the Commander already taking the steps two at a time ahead of them. Micah was starting to look a little green himself, but when she gestured he followed without comment, looking mildly ill but determined at least.

Once they reached the top Angel had to give her brother some due credit for his fear, demons made for bloody battles, and the chartreuse glow of the rift that hung above it all only made it worse. Uniformed men and women were fighting with every last inch, but even now she could see more shade’s emerging, the simple game of numbers already halfway deciding the outcome here. 

“Angel what the hell do i do?”

She turned to Micah and saw the dismay that would very soon give way to guilt, he’d delayed them and in doing so cost lives, he might not have done so out of malice but the results were the same and she could see that it stung deeply.

“Well kid, my first suggestion would be to find a weapon fast”

Angel turned, blinked and then looked down to see a dwarf hauling back the cocking stirrup of the most outrageous looking crossbow she’d ever seen, it was a frighteningly complex thing of beauty. The man wielding it stared down the sight and launched a bolt before turning to her.

“Get him to the elf, he’s the only one of us around here with an idea”

He pointed to a man just on the other side of the rift, a ragged looking mage who was none the less holding his own against the onslaught, his staff almost a blur as it was swung and whirled in a series of complicated circles until it erupted with ice, freezing an advancing shade solid. A dark haired woman launched into view, ramming the frozen shade with her shoulder to her shield, the newly made sculpture shattering.

Angel nodded to the dwarf in understanding and drew the short sword at her hip, gripping Micah’s arm with the other hand, drawing him down the steps while her eyes sought out the clearest route between swinging swords and flailing claws.

The first demon came at them from the side, she’d barely raised her blade when a crossbow bolt hit it between the eyes, the dwarf throwing a mock salute before loading another bolt in a swift and practiced motion. She pushed forward again, ducking the backswing of a shield, throwing her blade up to parry an errant strike that came too near her face, Micah allowing himself to be tugged and pulled behind her. He had the good sense to follow her movements, stopping when she did and using her armoured body as the shield she was meant to be, even so she found herself jerking him to one side as an arrow sped through the space he’d just been occupying.

The last few yards were just in reach when another creature literally popped up out of the ground in front of them, throwing a wide radius of force around it that knocked both of them back. This thing looked like it had been first in line at the arms and legs department of the demon workshop, one long arm already sweeping down, claw tipped fingers skating over her breastplate with a teeth clenching squeal. She slashed awkwardly at it from her prone position and it jerked back as if stung and screeched angrily as it took a step towards them, then it took several steps back as something solid hit it in the face on the end of a wide swinging arc.

Angel allowed herself to grin, there were fewer sights more welcome on a battlefield than the seven foot tall shadow that fell over them and she reached out as a silver skinned arm shot forward and wrapped a beringed hand about her forearm, hauling her to her feet easily enough. She moved without hesitance now, barely nodding to Morakai as she and Micah sped towards the elf, the imposing mage already turning back to the gangling creature who was having trouble with its sense of direction now that the back of its head was touching its spine. Green light briefly traced the curve of a horn as an absurdly heavy staff swung again...and again. 

They had barely skidded to a halt beside the ragged looking mage when he snatched up Micah’s wrist and dragged him closer to the rift.

“Quickly, before more come through!”

He had to shout, the raw crackling energy of the rift was almost deafening and she resisted the urge to wince as she saw the mage thrust her brothers hand towards the fitful green light above them, its nucleus a cavorting and shifting crystal like object that all but advertised its malevolence. She watched with fascination and growing concern as something seemed to leap between the rift and Micah’s marked hand, a collection of particles that came together in a beam of light that was brighter than the rift itself, causing everyone close enough to throw an arm over their face to protect their eyes. Angel heard the build up of power between the mark and the rift and risked squinting under her arm to see the centre crystal bulge and contort, then she saw the way Micah was screwing up his face, part pain and part concentration, his upraised hand shaking even in the elf’s grip. 

That audible build up seemed to wind up a few more notches until it felt like her eyes and teeth might vibrate from their sockets, then something gave way and the green crystal like object appeared to explode and implode at the same time. Like everyone else she turned and braced herself for the impact of incoming shards, only to see dark globules of something drifting down almost gently, neither gas nor liquid. When it hit the ground it seemed as though the stone drank it down until it disappeared.

An unnatural silence fell over the gathered men and women now, every chest heaved with the effort of battle, every sword, bow and staff was still held aloft as if they couldn’t quite believe it was over or perhaps didn’t dare to, and every eye was turned upon her brother who was currently looking at his hand as if he’d never seen it before. 

“Oh come ON, are you telling me i literally just had to shove my hand at the thing?”

The incredulous declaration had the effect of clearing the tension and now people were starting to look alert rather than awed, some already moving on down the ruins of what she assumed had once been the main entrance to the temple. Angel had to admit that she shared some of her brothers disbelief and she cocked her head at the elf who was looking mildly pleased and appeared to be the least phased person there.

“What did you do?”

“ _I_ did nothing, the credit belongs to…”

“...The prisoner”

The dark haired woman swiped an old rag up the length of her longsword as she approached. Her steps jerked with agitation, mouth moving rapidly as though she were literally chewing on words. Angel heard Micah sigh like a child who has resigned himself to the fact that he is going to have to eat all his vegetables as the woman stopped a few feet in front of him, clearly not trusting herself to get closer if the dagger like glare were any clue. Then those eyes caught sight of something over Micah’s shoulder and widened as she spoke.

“Is that a….?”

All eyes now turned to Morakai knelt beside one of the soldiers, her hand splayed over a wound that leaked through her fingers in steady pulses. The heavy staff bobbed and dipped on her back as she worked, a familiar blue glow outlining her tensed fingers and Angel knew that the soldier’s pain would begin to dull within moments. Only when the flow of blood slowed did she lift the man in her arms, ignorant of their stares and the embarrassed soldiers weak protests as she stood and moved silently to where two more soldiers were helping the injured into a cart. Angel turned to the dark haired woman, a well prepared and oft used speech already waiting on her tongue.

“ _She_ is Morakai, and i would advise against using particular words in her presence, Saarebas being the main one to avoid. She’ll do a lot more good than harm here, i promise you”

The woman tore her gaze away and looked disorientated for a moment until she seemed to gather herself and centre her gaze on Angel. Once again she felt herself being quickly assessed, only this woman was better at it than the Commander had been.

“And you are?” The words were an accusation and a demand rolled into one.

Angel opened her mouth to speak, but to her surprise Micah stepped forward now and the dark haired woman’s gaze swung to him next, her jaw tightening at the sight of him, and Angel had to wonder what button Micah had pressed here, he always found one even when he wasn’t looking.

“Seeker Cassandra, this is my sister Angel Trevelyan...Angel, meet the Seeker”

“Your _sister_?”

Her brother sighed and bit at the inside of his cheek, a sure sign he was edging towards letting his famous mouth run away with him again, intimidating as she was, Micah’s patience didn’t have the farthest reach at the best of times, while he was agitated it was even worse and she found herself appealing to his diplomatic side with the faintest of frowns in his direction, tempers needed to cool here not get worse.

“Look this will take too long to explain and i still don’t know what just happened, i promise you can interrogate me later, thumbscrews and all if you so desire but right now i have to ask….do you really think this thing can help?”

Well it wasn’t exactly diplomatic but it was better than his usual caustic sense of humor that always seemed to come to the surface when he’d reached a limit. The last question he posed to the elf who had been watching all this with a mild expression fixed in place, Angel might have forgotten he was there till he moved.

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake, and it seems I was correct.”

“Meaning it could also close the breach itself?” The seeker seemed to put aside her desire to pound her brother into new and interesting shapes in favour of some good news, her assessment of priorities something of a relief under the circumstances. 

“Possibly, it seems this young man is the key to our salvation. Cassandra, you should know,the magic involved here is unlike any I have ever seen, your prisoner is a mage, but I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.” 

“You and me both friend”

Micah was looking gloomily at his hand, not appearing enthused about the idea of having ‘unheard of power’ attached to something as vital as an often used appendage. She offered him as much encouragement as she could with a small smile, doing her best not to attract the Seeker’s attention while she seemed to have forgotten about Angel’s presence, wanting to avoid the debate about her coming along for as long as possible.

“So this idea of yours stands a chance chuckles, good to know, and here i thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever”

The dwarf with the alarming crossbow approached them now, tugging at his sleeves nonchalantly and bearing an easy swagger that was at least fifty percent theatrics. He gave the sort of smile that would talk a chantry sister out of her smalls and announced himself as if the world had been waiting for him to make his entrance.

“Varric Tethras, Rogue, storyteller and occasionally unwelcome tagalong, that was some nifty work there kid, I can’t wait to see what you do with the breach”

Cassandra looked as though someone had announced the dwarf intended to piss up the leg of Andraste for all that her nostrils flared and mouth thinned, it seemed that Micah was not the only fixture of her ire right now. Angel almost felt sorry for her, trying to keep things together amidst all this chaos must have felt like trying to herd white cats in snow.

“Absolutely not, and nor can i be expected to let your sister and her...friends accompany us, it would be…”

Micah’s head jerked up with mutiny written all over his features, even Angel had a few words lining up to point out the futility of refusing help at a time like this, but it was Varric who spoke up first. He still wore that easy smile and when he spoke you could tell that he’d already practiced this argument in his head.

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me, you need anyone willing to fight, you can’t afford to get picky at this point.”

“If your pockets are filled with as much silver as your tongue handsome you and i need to go a round or two of wicked grace”

Aida hopped over a corpse, curly red hair bouncing slightly as she walked alongside Nairn who had finally pulled the scarf away from his nose to reveal a mouth that looked as though it were perpetually on the verge of a grin. Aida’s starkhaven accent was hard to miss on its own, but the image of a dwarf an elf and Morakai bringing up the rear, looked like the start of every bad bar joke ever told in Thedas. Feeling that somebody needed to say something before the Seeker’s nostrils flared so widely that you could drive a cart up them, Angel finally pushed away from the wall.

“I’ll place myself under your command Seeker, and my people will follow me, your priority is the breach, mine is my brother, and right now they both amount to the same goal”

She didn’t look behind her but she could feel Aida and Nairn exchanging nonplussed looks, Angel had led the Hounds for eight years and in all that time she had never put them in the service of another, even if it was really just a common courtesy at this point. She knew she wouldn’t have to doubt her own words however, they would follow, they always followed. The Seeker clearly knew when it was time to give up and Angel saw it as a good sign when the woman sighed and seemed to let some of that agitation slip away along with it.

“Very well, i suppose it is not the time to debate such matters, we should move on. The Commander went ahead to prepare the rest of our soldiers at the breach, we must reach the bridge. There will be a discussion when this is done”

This seemed to be about as good a compromise as they were going to get and Angel took it, her eyes cutting to Micah who didn’t hide his relief, then to the elven mage who had yet to introduce himself, he seemed to be studying Morakai’s silent form with a slightly curious expression rather than the usual caution or open mouthed awe. Aida was grinning up at the Breach as if all her birthdays had come at once while Nairn was eyeing Varric’s crossbow with a hungry expression of an avid fan, the dwarf in question just looked smug.

It was safe to say they made a very strange looking group, but she couldn’t deny that she felt happier as they followed the seeker down the rubble of the hall, the more people around Micah the better, that she knew most of them were skilled meant that she might just have a chance of getting her brother the hell out of here in one piece. It was hard to execute someone when they went ahead and saved the world, it would just make you look a bit petty. With Cassandra and the elf leading she dropped back to where Varric and Aida were already discussing stakes of the aforementioned game of wicked grace.

“I feel i have to ask before you end up losing it to Aida once she’s won all but the hair on your chest, but where did you get that thing, it's a masterpiece and a cautionary tale all in one”

She watched the dwarf throw a look at the weapon over his shoulder that was almost disturbingly loving.

“Ah, isn’t she, Bianca and I have been through alot together”

Angel was no stranger when it came to an almost unnatural attachment to one’s weapon, though most people aimed for something intimidating when it came to naming them, both the name and the more than infatuated glance he had given the weapon not exactly adding up to its actual lethality.

“You named your crossbow Bianca?”

Varric merely looked at her as if she were stating something perfectly obvious rather than asking a question, his eye flicking to the sword on her back.

“Of course, are you trying to tell me you don’t have a name for that thing on your back”

Angel reached up a hand to pat the greatswords grip as if it required soothing, stepping up and over the remains of a wall, one eye still constantly on Micah’s back as he followed between Cassandra and the elf.

“Hey now, don’t go calling her a thing, she’s a respected lady”

Varric chuckled as he half walked and half slid down an embankment, they were on another route that would lead them across one of the frozen channels of the lake, here they could see more of the green comet like fireballs streaking towards the main hall of the temple, it’s distance seeming all the more urgent now that they were finally on the move. For the first time in hours Angel allowed herself to feel a little of the fear that had been so far kept at bay by far more important matters, compartmentalizing was a gift, but she wasn’t immune and the thin trickle of fear she did allow, was enough to grip her heart with the possibility that not everyone was going to make it out of this.

What waited at the temple wasn’t a gang of slavers or a sloppy bunch of raiders, they weren’t on a battlefield where there were rules of engagement and they certainly weren’t going to be presiding over any negotiations. Demons and giant holes in the sky didn’t have any capacity to be reasoned with and though they had faced one or two in the years she’d been leading them, the Hounds had not trained for something like this. 

Not that they showed it, Aida was still positively vibrating with excitement at the prospect, she tapped fingers over the grip of her axes while humming a tune of dubious origin. Nairn simply looked like he was taking a stroll down the streets of Kirkwall once more. She knew his opinion on demons but she also knew that if Nairn had any true doubts he would make himself heard, quite explosively in most cases. With the way that Morakai followed silently behind them, one might be mistaken into thinking of her as a loyal pet for all her size, until one of those rare occasions when she actually spoke and you realised that nothing in Thedas would ever make her do anything she didn’t want to.

Yes, just a little fear, but more than a little bit of pride too, because they followed and because she never had to ask.

“Demons ahead!”

The elfs shout snapped her attention to the middle of the lake where a group of shades and wraiths were swiftly floating and dragging themselves across the ice towards them. Fear slipped away as if sucked down a drain as she finally pulled the greatsword free from her back, she had no time and no further use for fear in that moment, it was always useful for a healthy dose of respect for what you were about to fight but no more than that. 

“So what _did_ you call her?” Varric was already loading the crossbow with another bolt, his eye fixed upon a wraith that was lagging behind the others, “I bet it’s something like death bringer or skullbane”

“The Penetrator!” Piped up Aida as she pulled the handaxes from her belt, tossing one casually and catching it as her eyes sought out her own target.

“Really Aida, you're going with cock analogies so soon?” Nairn’s grin was voracious as he pulled back the bowstring, “I’d have gone with something classic, like ‘The Nutcracker’, more subtle”

The shades were closing in, she could see the Seeker lifting her shield in preparation, the mage already throwing up a blue glow around the front rank of their group.

“Aw Lad, now you're just playin to the female warrior stereotype, that's not classy at all”

“Well what is it?” Varric demanded as he pressed the crossbows stock to his shoulder and took aim just as Aida bolted forward in a flurry of bouncing red curls and Nairn let his first arrow fly. 

Angel felt that old, familiar tension in her muscles, the kind of tension that felt like a tightly wound spring ready to be let loose, she grinned and dropped a wink to the dwarf as she raised the weapon in a double handed grip.

“Her name, is Mercy”

*****

** Cullen **

He was relieved to find that most of his men were still alive when he returned to the what remained of the rubble that surrounded the rift, those that had fallen had been pulled off the battlefield and lined up off to one side with as much respect as could be managed while the rift continued to keep them busy. They had once again slowed the onslaught of demons but could do nothing about the ones that dropped from the sky except stem the tide as best they could, 

“Commander!”

Another soldier whose name he hadn’t had time to learn yet, Maker how could he not know their names? It was different here, with the Templars he had grown up with most of the men he served with, in Kirkwall he had more of an opportunity to get to know his men, but here he was the Commander of an army that was always growing, and the moment he thought he’d caught up there were always new faces to memorize. The recruit jogged over, his face shining with sweat that left clean tracks amongst the dust that gave him an ashen complexion.

“Ser, we’ve only lost four men but we had to send more back down to the other rift, the Demons were getting too close to the bridge”

The recruits tone suggested a question and Cullen felt a brief stab of guilt, he should have been here to make the decision himself rather than leave his men to guess. It was a comfort to know that they had chosen the correct course however, you never really knew if all the effort put into training would pay off until it was tested.

“Good work, how are the non-recruits doing?”

“The rift has kept them busy, their far from best friends considering all the talk about what came out of that thing, but for now they have more immediate matters to deal with”

As if to underline his point the rift crackled and spat, it's strange light separating into strands that hit the ground and seemed to feed the growing pools of glassy green they created until they bore their monstrous fruit. The men were all but waiting for this however, and as soon as the demons emerged they were set upon from all sides, Cullen was surprised they didn’t end up injuring each other for all the enthusiasm they put into taking the things down. Another flaming meteor smacked into the floor behind the rift, spraying the remaining stone tiles as a nightmare unfolded from its green flame, it was greeted by a hail of arrows and bolts from the men up on the ridge, more stepping forward as the others reloaded.

Four of the Templars had blockaded a greater nightmare with their shields, swords jabbing and slashing every time it tried to charge the makeshift boundary while two mages balanced precariously on a broken pillar, firing bolts down on the enraged creature. The air was thick with magic and blood, mixed with the dry and musty smell of demons that made him think of snakes for some strange reason.

“All right, the Seeker should be here with the Prisoner soon, I don’t want a riot when they see him so put someone on watch and as soon as their approaching I want the Templars sent forward with a few of our recruits to the main hall”

The recruit nodded as if he agreed with this plan, separating one of the groups meant less chance of them turning on one another before they could close the rift. Keeping the Templars away from the prisoner would be easier than keeping them away from the mages. 

“I’ll send Merrick and Donaldson Commander, Leeds took an arrow to the leg but her eyes are still working fine, i’ll put her on lookout”

The recruit jerked a quick bow and jogged off to shout up at one of the archers on the wall, leaving Cullen to watch the ordered chaos still going on around him. A pained scream tugged his vision to the left where he saw two soldiers holding down a third man who was desperately trying to thrash while another attempted to set a clearly broken leg. Triage on a battlefield was fast and brutal. He felt a thin sliver of anger towards the prisoner all over again, did he know that lives had been lost during his escape attempt, did he even comprehend that his actions had further consequences other than his freedom? If he were honest with himself he knew he was being unfair, the prisoner had shown himself to be a spineless bastard, but after meeting him the ex-Templar just couldn’t imagine him having the brains to orchestrate the explosion at the conclave. Still he was convenient to blame when nothing else was, the demons coming from the fade were mindless and hell bent only on destruction, you could no more blame them than a sword.

In truth he was more incensed by the fact that the man had forced himself to be run down in order to escape his duty, only for his sister to step in. What they hadn’t managed to accomplish by interrogation and armed guards, she had managed with a face full of snow and a stern talking to. it was ridiculous and certainly didn’t fit the gravity of the situation. It had reminded him of the times when his own sister would sit on him whenever he used to annoy her and it had ended up being no less humiliating.

It would be some time before he forgot the threat of being spanked by his own sword, or that tone of voice that had made him want to drop to his knees and started reciting canticles.

He was allowed a temporary amnesia by way of a Nightmare demon that escaped the circle of combatants by slipping beneath the rock, appearing seconds later amongst the injured and those trying to help. One man was gripped under the arms by a soldier and dragged away backwards, his half finished bandage still trailing from a bloodied leg, the others scattering left and right, pawing at their weapons while the Nightmare screeched and swiped at the passing bodies. 

Cullen had barely placed a hand on his sword hilt when something red and fast streaked past his vision and smacked the Nightmare directly in the face like thrown pie. It was a dwarf, at least he believed it was a dwarf, most wolverines didn’t have hair that shade, nor did they swear like a tavern full of sailors while happily hacking away at something’s face with a small hand axe. He watched, half appalled and half fascinated as the diminutive woman rode the lumbering, screaming demon to the ground by the sheer persistence and savage accuracy of her blows. As the nightmare crumpled and began to dissipate she rolled away and popped up again as if on a spring, threw a shit eating grin at him as recognition hit the ex-templar hard enough for him to press his lips together in a scowl, and then darted away to disappear amongst the soldiers surrounding the rift.

All this had taken place in about ten to fifteen seconds, Cullen was still blinking at the nearly evaporated Nightmare when a breathless soldier came limping over to him, sweat running from her temple's and forehead as she stopped beside the Commander with hands planted on her knees and attempted to catch her breath and deliver her message at the same time.

“Seeker coming….mad Dwarf, couldn’t…..keep up”

He jerked his head to the archway at the head of the stairs just in time to see Cassandra reach the top, the panting recruit already limping away before she could be asked to deliver another message. The prisoner stood between Cassandra and his sister, a small part of Cullen almost wished he could have been there to see the conversation between the two warriors, surely Cassandra would have needed persuading to let her accompany the man. They moved with a purpose that was synchronized, though he doubted whether either of the women realised, their postures and determined length of step designed to clear a path between the archway and the rift. He almost fell into step with them until he noticed the retinue that reached the top of the stairs behind them. He’d expected to see Solas, perhaps even Varric since the man seemed persuasive enough, the other elf had simply accompanied the Trevelyan woman and the dwarf he supposed.

The Qunari was definitely something of a surprise, a very large surprise that wielded a staff. His brain helpfully provided no frame of reference or helpful advice aside from; Mage! Very big Mage!, and the time for protest or inquiry was cut short when he heard Solas’ shout above the noise of the rift.

“We must seal it if we are to get past!”

Armoured bodies parted like a school of fish, and though Cullen hadn’t had the time to separate them into a group that was less likely to murder each other, none of them seemed the slightest bit interested in anything but the figure of Micah, who looked smaller and even more ill than the last time he’s seen him. Watching that small figure look uncertainly at the growing mark on his hand, Cullen had a moment of fatalistic incredulity. This was the man they were all relying on? The idiot coward who could barely keep two feet under him and looked as though he might collapse backwards at the stiffest breeze? It was an uncharitable thought and one that lingered with the faint smell of old prejudices, Cullen had to remind himself that he hadn’t come up with any better ideas so far.

Every eye now watched that hand lift towards the rift, and briefly he wondered if all that weight of expectancy made it harder for the mage to raise his arm. 

The hand spasmed, splaying fingers stiffly as the rift spat light, it’s crystallized centre shifting fitfully, clearly agitated as the beam of light connected between palm and rift, the mage staggering yet keeping the connection as an armored hand settled on the small of his back, keeping him steady while the building whine around them convinced soldiers, Templars and mages to dive for cover. The small group who had arrived with Cassandra stayed where they were, even the dwarven woman’s expression grim as they watched the rift swell and twist before something in the magic surrounding them snapped and the rift exploded into non existence.

For a moment Cullen couldn’t move, the build up of magic in the air had been as stifling as a steam room, it’s texture had been thick and oily, leaving a taste of metal in his mouth while pressure seemed to press in at his temples , only when it had finally snapped did that tension relieve itself. Those gathering murmurs were starting up again as people began to cautiously step out of cover, their eyes fixed upon where the rift had been only moments before.

Even he couldn’t argue with the empty space where the rift had once been, and for a moment his misgivings and concern about the prisoner and those that followed him were simply background noise next to the idea that they actually stood a chance for the first time in almost four days of wondering when the breach might eventually swallow their fruitless efforts along with the rest of the world.

He approached the small group, all of them showing the same relief he had felt, though he could see that none was more relieved than the Seeker. She didn’t show much beyond her tightly stern expression but that just meant Cullen had become adept at reading her eyes and body language. It was easy to see that he hadn’t been alone when it came to suffering under command.

“Well done Lady Cassandra, your arrival was well timed”

He didn’t have to elaborate, the soldiers were showing enough wear and tear, though the sealing of the rift brought something to life in all of them, their whispered conversations loud enough to make him wonder how quickly the rumors would make it down the mountain, and what shape they would be in when they got there, nobody embellished like a soldier.

“Do not congratulate me, Commander. This is the prisoner’s doing.”

Cullen hadn’t quite reached the stage where he would be willing to shake Micah’s hand just yet, but he could see the young mage glancing around the battlefield and what he saw in those eyes was a clear and unabashed shame that was hard to ignore and somehow even harder to bear a grudge against, even if it was somewhat satisfactory to know that the man saw past his own cowardice enough to see the gravity of the situation. 

He did brace an arm across his chest with a short bow however, doing his best to ignore the female dwarf who was grinning as if he’d done something particularly funny until she was kicked lightly in the shins by the woman with the two toned voice. He might have appreciated the gesture if he couldn’t see the faintest of suppressed smirks on her own attempt at staying neutral.

“I’ll leave another rear guard here and accompany you to the breach, we can take the bowmen and some of the less exhausted recruits, the mages will have to sit this one out, we have no more lyrium until the runner returns from Haven”

He watched Cassandra chew at the inside of her mouth as she looked between the assembled odds and ends of people she had collected on her way here and Cullen knew she was likely choosing a lesser of evils. She confirmed this with a singular nod and a visible stiffening of resolve as she turned towards the second archway, the gruesome tableau beyond mercifully hidden by one of the few walls still left standing.

“ A shame, they would be useful. Will the remaining soldiers be able to give us time Commander?”

Cullen looked over his shoulder at his assembled ‘troops’. Most of them were sporting one or more injuries, the length of the day sitting heavy on slumped shoulders and furrowed brows. Yet even as he began to wonder if the answer was perhaps no, some were already stepping forward in answer to the Seekers question, and even if their ranks had been fraught with the possibility of violence and in fighting, he couldn’t help but feel a small surge of pride.

“I believe they are more than willing and able Lady Seeker”

“Then we’d best move quickly, give your orders and meet us there Commander”

The Seeker headed to the archway and the rest of them followed, most of them looking sombre despite the small victory they had won, Cullen didn’t envy them their first glimpse of the temple's great hall and the crater beyond, in the momentum of the moment he had almost forgotten he would have to return to it once again. He turned away from their retreating backs and began to divide his men up, the archers marching on ahead first and then those he hand picked to climb down into the crater with him.

He was stopped short when a rather looming shadow fell over him like a private eclipse and for a moment he thought one of the Nightmares had made its way up the steps until a large leather pouch was dropped into his hand, clinking faintly as they closed quickly around the cracked leather before it could fall on the rock between his feet. By the time he turned around the Qunari was already walking away from him and towards the copper haired woman who offered a similar salute of her own before the two of them disappeared through the archway.

Cullen stared blankly at the empty space for a few seconds before finally looking down at the pouch in his hands. Flipping the top flap open he suppressed a faint shudder at the five blue vials nestled neatly together. 

_How in the void did they know?_

He instantly told himself not to be so stupid, shrugging away his paranoia easier than he might have done a couple of hours ago before he handed the pouch over to one of his sergeants and told him to pick out a few of the more reliable mages to send with them. When his own group swiftly assembled group was prepared he led them towards the temple, excited whispers surrounding him as the men finally dared to discuss the possibility of winning. Cullen just found himself silently praying that they were right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all i am aware that the story progress is slow at the moment, this is primarily to integrate the original characters into the story, but i also think the progress to the breach is an important setting, and as much as i poke fun at myself as a writer quite a lot in this fic, I will always do my best to produce a good story.
> 
> That being said, the rest of the story will progress at a quicker pace, slowing down for major events, i like writing but i don't want to be 50 chapters in and still facing corephypants in Haven.
> 
> Secondly, i have read up on Qunari/tal-vashoth/ Vashoth lore as much as i can, and from what i understand it is feasible that one of them has learned healing magic outside of the qun. Then i remembered this is fan fiction and i can edge the 'line' as much as i like when it comes to obscure lore!
> 
> As always comments and constructive advice are always going to be welcome, they are the little dangling carrot on a stick that allows us writers to keep going!


	3. Chapter 3

** Varric **

_Varric had always considered himself a simple man afflicted with an unfortunate case of imagination that went beyond the scope of most dwarfs and usually out the other side. Since the average dwarf viewed any imagination that stretched beyond business and ale as suspicious, this meant he rarely fit in with his own kind, most of whom either had their heads buried up their ancestors asses or spent their lives trying to keep the coin flowing in a world that was designed to favour people who stood far higher than them, both literally and metaphorically. He'd very quickly learned to suffer the knowledge he was probably smarter than his brother in silence and had gotten on with finding ways to support and nurture his own ventures and contacts, whilst simultaneously living as un-dwarfishly as was likely possible for someone under five feet tall._

_A simple man with simple needs and an unfortunate imagination that tended to find its own way to translate the ticking clockwork machinations of his brain, whether that be in the form of a scheme, a creative lie or one of his books. He had done his best to keep his head down and his fingers in enough covert and morally grey pies to at least secure a comfortable life that allowed him to dabble in his verbose hobby without having to resort to many of the usual bastard tactics that seemed to plague Kirkwall's grimy underbelly. He'd taken risks but never sought to purposely risk his life, there were far more interesting things to do than be dead and so he had purposely developed the knack for learning when to step aside before real trouble could ever find him._

_So how in the Makers left testicle did he end up in a even bigger mess than Kirkwall?_

_He could and did admit a certain portion of blame, he had been far too clever for his own good in recognizing Hawke's potential as a business partner, and nowhere near prepared for the mage's ability to find himself immersed in every major disaster within a fifty mile radius. Somewhere along the line he might have grown some actual sense and asked to get off the insane ride that Hawke seemed to be embarking on, but he hadn't accounted for Hawke's knack of making friends almost as well as he made enemies. By the time Varric realised that things were veering away from merely questionable dealings and high spirited banditry, he was already too attached to his friend to think about turning his back on him._

_This had caused some friction with his old contacts in Darktown and the docks, until eventually half his contacts became enemies as Hawke set to the task of thinning their ranks. Such losses came with the compensations of good coin and a somewhat 'polished' version of a story he couldn't have made up if he tried, but that also meant that he'd passed through morally grey into respectable-with-just-a-few-smudges._

_This would have been all well and good if respectable hadn't meant 'responsible' every time the shit hit the fan. Which of course it had. A lot._

_The events in Kirkwall had been lovingly and creatively rendered onto pages that now sat in most households across Thedas, and that should have been enough. Kirkwall wasn't exactly thriving after Blondie's proverbial dump in the pool shattered the standard of living and thinking for pretty much everybody, but it had been adapting and beginning to drag itself back together again, and Varric had found himself at the disposal of some rather influential people who actually considered he might have some valuable opinions when it came to reshaping Kirkwall._

_And then the Seeker arrived and his prospects of a comfortable and slightly less dangerous life disappeared as quickly as a dropped sovereign in Lowtown's market._

**_Of all the taverns, in all the towns, in all the world, she had to walk into mine… accompanied with eight soldiers and a Templar._ **

_Varric eyed the line critically and tried not to notice the roil in his stomach as his body rocked sideways in sympathy with the ship. He planted his foot more firmly on the deck to steady the book and writing board on his knees as he wrinkled his nose and crossed the line out with a light stroke from the quill. It was always difficult finding that perfect first line to hook them in and it didn't help that the Seeker was still eyeing him from the other side of the ship with enough disapproval that most of the crew were avoiding him for fear they might catch it. He had to wonder why, if she truly found him as distasteful as her expression usually indicated, she had bothered to drag him onto this Maker cursed ship in the first place._

**_It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a Seeker in possession of a grudge, must be in want of an innocent dwarf to blame it on._ **

_He crossed that one out on principle since it would likely earn him further grief down the line. Along with possessing absolutely no sense of humor, he suspected that the Seeker would all too readily try sneaking a peek at his belongings just in case he had secret messages from Hawke concealed in his rolled up socks. That was one lie Varric didn't regret telling, even if he did get the impending feeling that it would bite him on the ass sooner or later, Hawke had enough on his plate without being drawn into the Divines mess._

_That was another thing._

_He, Varric Tethras, a dwarf of minimal interest and dubious upbringing, was to be marched before the Divine to tell his story. There had to be a joke in there somewhere right?_

_He was technically Andrastian in the same way that a tomato was technically a fruit, in that it rarely made a difference in his life. He believed the stories well enough, though he viewed them with a writer's trained eye, suspecting that more than a few facts had been embellished and then later down the line rearranged a little more to fit certain viewpoints. Yet he had never once set foot in a chantry with any sort of a mind to pray there. What religious belief he did posses did not reside amongst the expensive gold statues, instead it lived in that sharp moment of fear when praying right where you stood seemed a damn good idea._

_Spinning a story to the actual Divine would either be the most ill fated mistake in his life or the most tavern worthy tale in his entire career._

_At least the Divine was unlikely to stab him in the book._

_She probably had people to do that for her._

**_The woman in black fled across the sea, and the storyteller followed….reluctantly._ **

_Nah, that one made it sound like he was chasing the Seeker, the implied threats and armed soldiers had made it official that he was here under duress. Still it could have been worse he thought as he glanced over to where the Commander was currently bent double over the ship's rail, his stomach likely still rebelling against the unfamiliar motion of the deck beneath his feet. Curly had turned vomiting over the side of a ship into an art form, it might take some people a few tries to remember not to piss into the wind, but learning not to vomit into the wind was a one time deal. His stomach produced a mild sympathetic clench as the former Templar all but tipped himself into the rolling waves in his efforts to dispel whatever dregs remained in the abused stomach._

_"Lady Seeker, Commander, I can see the coast"_

_Varric raised a brow at the Seeker who now strode across the deck as if her feet had a personal beef with the wood, glaring from beneath her raised hand and guiding his own attention to the thin line that had begun to appear over the horizon. The approaching strip of land jerked another clench from his stomach, though this one had precious little to do with sea sickness and everything to do with the approach of their final destination. The notion of their dragging him here merely to tell a story he had already told would have stretched even the most active imagination, perhaps the Seeker believed that a divine gaze might force more truth from his lips?_

_How skilled did you have to be to bullshit the Divine?_

_It might have almost been worth the challenge if not for the clear feeling that a story wouldn't be all they wanted from him. He turned away from the view of the advancing coast, his quill dipping into ink as he stared at the first page and it's many crossings out. He needn't watch the impending coastline in these last few minutes of peace and quiet, what he needed now was that perfect combination of words that would accurately sum up his feelings and experiences in the last few weeks. Words that would describe his trepidation, but had to also imply his steadfast bravery in the light of the unknown._

_He glanced at the Seeker, her straight backed pose surely due to several sticks lodged in varying places of discomfort, her eyes still trained on the coast as if she feared it might grow mischievous and dart away when she wasn't looking._

_The Commander had managed to find his feet, though one hand still gripped the rail in case another sudden urge to redecorate the ship's outer hull overcame him. Undiluted relief swam over that pale and clammy face and he suspected it would be some time before the man would be convinced to board a ship again._

_Soldiers who'd had nothing else to do with their time but sit and wait for the miles to trail behind them, now moved in a frenzy of activity, checking packs that had long since been secured, going over lists they had likely thrice checked but doing it again anyway._

_Everybody seemed relieved or at least glad to see the approaching land, and even Varric was looking forward to solid unmoving ground beneath his feet, though in his case he reckoned that the novelty would wear off right about the time he remembered he was technically here under duress. The words swam into the focus of his mind as if they had always been there and were simply waiting for the right thoughts to unlock them. The dwarf grinned and turned over to a blank page, his deft hand sweeping the page with a fanciful flourish._

**_Well, Shit!_ **

_They were not words by which men would live or die, nor would they ever feature in the perfumed arches of Orlesian poetry readings, but they were honest and no 23 verse sonnet would ever depict his feelings on this whole situation better than those two little words. He lifted the book and blew gently to dry the ink before snapping it closed and capping the ink. When his supplies were finally packed away he strode over to the Seeker taking position beside her and following the line of her gaze._

_"Say Seeker, did i ever tell you about the time i took out the leader of the Silent Sisters with just a quill and a handful of coppers?"_

_"Ugh!"_

_Everybody was a critic._

*****

 

** Angel **

She gripped the ruined balcony with both hands and bit down upon her own tongue to stifle the cry of horror that almost jerked its way from her throat, her brows knitting together with the effort as she swallowed down the need to declare her disgust. Behind her, the others were not quite so successful, Nairn swore softly under his breath while even Aida's indomitable cheer cracked enough for her to betray an almost pained gasp. Varric caught her eye, and though he remained as tight lipped as she did, she saw the weight of contained dismay in his eyes. Their mutual fear recognised and remaining unspoken as the largest of the rifts so far, contorted and threw shafts of pale green light to give their staring faces ghoulish undertones.

"I didn't do this"

The whisper was hoarse and seemed to come from far away despite it coming from her immediate left, she turned and stared into her brother's slack face. His skin had turned waxy, his wide eyes bright and feverish in sockets that appeared bruised and sunken with, a colour she could only describe as shock flesh. Her hand came to rest upon his back instinctively, steadying the tremor that shook his hands as they twisted in knots before him. Much of his borrowed courage was now draining from him and who could blame him, he was staring down at a charnel field, one people believed him responsible for.

Heavy uniformed steps announced the Commander's arrival, his troops filing through the small archway to make their way down into the pit. As the last man came through, a hooded woman brought up the rear, sparing Micah a glance before she drew closer to the balcony.

"Angel, I _didn't_...I couldn't _**do**_ this!"

He'd turned away from the breach and now gripped both her forearms so hard she was almost convinced he would dent the metal. He was pleading with her, pleading for her to believe him, as if she could ever be convinced he'd be capable of something as monstrous as this, even by accident. For one thing he didn't have the power to do something like this, for another...he did not have the kind of tainted soul that could even conceive of this display, much less be it's creator.

"This is a mistake, they got it wrong, I could never…all these _people_!"

His eyes were shiny and desperate with panic, in that moment he had never looked so young and it was a mark of effort not to just scoop him up and carry him out of there before more damage could be done. Someone cleared their throat and her head snapped to the sound, her eyes hardening as she silently dared any one of them to make a comment right now, just one snide word or frustrated demand. Nobody seemed willing to speak. Giving Micah her full attention again, she chased his eyes away from one of the burning corpses that had died on its knees as though attempting to pray before the unforgivable heat found them.

"Nothing, not even the Divine's own army, could ever convince me that you did this"

She refused to let his gaze wander, her cold hand stilling his head when he made to jerk away, as if her belief couldn't possibly come so easily in the face of such brutality. Only when he was forced to look upon her own steady eyes did some of that dismay fall away in stages, until eventually he gave a stiff nod and swallowed, as if pushing back further plea's of his innocence. Now both her hands held his face, her expression growing sternly obstinate until he looked a little more convinced and released a shaking breath before he raised his voice, her hands slipping away as she watched him carefully.

"All right Lady Seeker, I'm assuming you have some plan to get me up there that doesn't involve myself being hurled via trebuchet?"

It was the ragged elf who stepped forward and pointed to the rift suspended in the middle of the cataclysmic crater, he seemed unaffected by the slightly awkward situation of her brother having a contained meltdown. The other's appeared to be slightly uncomfortable and she could forgive them that, it was hard to feel reassured when your last hope looked scared shitless, it probably wouldn't have instilled much hope in her if she wasn't aware that while Micah wasn't the bravest man, he was stubborn, and once he committed to a task he would see it through out of sheer bloody mindedness if nothing else.

"No. This rift was the first and is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach."

She watched Micah nod, and if she concentrated hard enough she could almost read his thought process. Seal the rift, easy...that just required some dramatic pointing didn't it? Her guess was accurate enough that both she and Micah smirked at the same time, the elf looking between them with that same mild mannered patience, Cassandra approaching with a faintly confused expression at their quickly shifting moods.

A straggling soldier suddenly appeared in the small archway, brandishing a staff at the silent Commander and looking rather annoyed, it might have had something to do with the pronounced limp. The Commander glanced at the staff and then tipped his head in Micah's direction, the soldier waiting till he looked away before she pulled a face at him and limped over to her brothers faintly surprised expression. That he was prepared to arm her brother again made Angel feel slightly better about the man, though the stern aura that he wore still made him seem about as warm as an iceberg. There had also been something in his voice when he'd been holding Micah at the end of his sword, something that had worried her enough to introduce herself via her blade before her words.

Simply being able to wrap his hand around the smooth wood of the staff seemed to straighten Micah's spine just a little more, and he tipped a nod to the Seeker who gestured for them all to follow her around the edges of the balcony.

**_"Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice."_ **

Even Angel's feet practically skidded to a halt at the sound of that voice, its echoes still crawling over the spires of rock that jutted inward towards the rift, pulsing with veins of green light as though breathing. She saw a well placed archer fumble at an arrow before drawing his bow and pointing it skyward as if he could take aim upon the thunderous words. It wasn't simply that the voice was loud, or that it reverberated beneath their feet, there was simply something in the solid ancient confidence of those words, an absolute surety that every syllable would be answered with nothing but obedience. In short, it was a voice that fit perfectly against the backdrop of the storming vortex above them.

"What the unholy fuck was that?" Nairn's whisper came from the corner of his mouth, as if he imagined that too much movement at this point might invite the focus of that dread voice to fall upon him.

"At a guess, the person who created the breach"

The elf's dry and neutral tone seemed to dispel the unnatural stillness and they began to move again, albeit with cautious steps. They passed a section of the ruined rock where the blackened spires gave way to vein of shimmering red crystal, Varric appearing to give it a wider berth than anyone else.

"Is that..?"

"Red lyrium" he confirmed with a growl, "Whatever you do don't touch it"

She didn't need him to elaborate further, Varric seemed to be a man who would only treat life seriously when the situation truly called for it, if the red lyrium bothered him enough to rob him temporarily of his full body swagger she would take his advice to heart. Even without Varric's warning, the stuff didn't exactly invite you over to poke it, malevolence had many forms and it had found one in the sprawling spread of the red lyrium.

They had almost reached the limit of the former balconies path when another voice split the air, this one shrill and desperate **_"Someone help me!"_**

"That is Divine Justinia's voice!"

Cassandra now ran to where the balcony had given way to a loose scree of chipped rock, her composure slipping slightly as she made her way down, Micah picking his way a little more carefully, his balance aided by the staff, though Morakai lingered close behind, silently attentive as always. One by one they slid and jumped down into the belly of the pit itself, the air becoming hotter and dryer here, and she could vaguely feel the hairs on the back of her neck lifting as she watched the poisonous light shift and cavort over the surrounding rock. This was a bad place, not just because of the breach above them or the charred remains that posed like rotted chantry statues. No, the land here had been scarred in some irretrievable way, as if the very fade had claimed the land and replaced it with this twisted version.

**_"Whats going on here?"_ **

Another ghostly voice, but this one she recognized. It was accompanied by a flash of white that expanded until it revealed wavering, transparent images. There was a woman, restrained by what had to be some sort of magic, a tall and frankly imposing figure standing before her….and there in the doorway, her brother.

**_"Run while you can...warn them"_ **

**_"We have an Intruder...slay him"_ **

Angel watched the dark and vague suggestion of a misshapen hand point to the figure in the doorway, blinking rapidly seconds later as that same white flesh ripped the strange vision apart. Any eye that wasn't still staring at where those figures had been, were now upon Micah who looked about as dumb founded as the rest of them, did he truly not remember this? Cassandra now looked barely restrained, but it wasn't anger that caused her to grip her brother's arm and swing him around, her face hectic enough to make Angel take a step forward.

"You _were_ there! Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?"

For once her brother seemed unaffected by the Seeker's agitation, he was still staring at the space where his ghostly self had been standing, his voice a mere murmur, as if only half his brain was paying attention.

"I don't know, i don't remember _any_ of that, maybe it's an echo from the fade...a reflection of what happened here"

In the following silence a cricket's fart could have drawn their attention. It took Micah a second or two to realise nobody was talking and when he saw some of the surprise most of them shared he rolled his eyes.

"I did actually _study_ at the circle, I can be downright academic when i'm not looking down my own nose at a sword. So, once again it's just a case of point and…?"

He waved his hand cautiously to demonstrate and the ragged elf tipped his head in ascent.

"This rift is not sealed, but it is closed… albeit temporarily. I believe with the mark, the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side."

While chaos had somewhat hampered command so far, she could now see the worth of the Commander and the Seeker as they moved their men around the sunken crater like pieces on a board. Archers and combat mages were positioned around the upper lip of the ruin, Nairn making a few of them wince as he carefully climbed and positioned himself atop one of the twisted spires of rock. Shield bearers stood to one side with the Commander, ready to create a wall between Micah and whatever came out of the rift. Cassandra had gathered the two handed blades and pikemen to her and it was here that Angel stood, accompanied of course by Aida, who once again looked ready to fling herself at whatever came through.

A pregnant silence fell over the bowl of the crater, voices dying as each man and woman slipped into their own private comforts and fears, all eyes either upon the seemingly small figure of her brother or the churning green light. They waited like a held breath, the soft creak and rattle of armour the only sound accompanying the disturbing crystalline grind of the rift as Cassandra nodded one final time and her brother stepped forward with his glowing hand raised.

The light burst from his hand like a thrown spear, slamming into the waiting rift, gorging it on power until it seemed to burst like liquid, pouring forth white light from which a dread shape emerged and threw its shadow over them like a shroud. It's brutal form uncurled from its crouch, natural plates shifting and grinding as it tossed its tapered maw to the sky and announced it's presence with a ground trembling roar. She could just make out the faint blue aura that sat above its armoured flesh, charged energy crawling over its plates as it regarded the assembled soldiers.

Angel saw fear...she _felt_ fear. The demons she had encountered both before the conclave and after the explosion were common shades and terror's, she had never crossed paths with something of this magnitude. Compartmentalization worked well enough for her, but it was hard to fool instinct at the best of times, and as resolutely as she now gripped her weapon, fear touched her enough to suggest just running. It took only one look at Micah standing off to one side to chase even the faintest of fear away, replacing it with that all too powerful desire to protect, it was why she travelled with her friends, nothing motivated a sword better than the desire to preserve something important to you, except perhaps hate and she had plenty of that to spare for a few demons.

Green strands split from the rift again, sinking into the rock and ashes, releasing a fresh batch of shades as the Pride demon finally took a lumbering step forwards, its bullet head swinging to the lone form of her brother.

"NOW!"

From sudden petrified stillness to a coordinated flurry of movement, the small army exploded into action as if fired from a bow.

Cassandra left behind a plume of ash as she sped forward, the movement grabbing the demon's focus, while arrows and bolts slammed into the first wave of shades, a blue glow shrouding Micah as he dived to one side, narrowly missing a flailing claw. The offending shade lunged after him again, only to find itself paralyzed moments before a Templar sword sheathed itself into its back.

The shields had positioned themselves now, the Commander directing them to form a half circle around her brother and only then could she give her full attention to the fight ahead. Angel reached the pride demon flanked by Aida and squat soldier hefting a warhammer, she turned into her strike, momentum bringing the blade around to swipe up at an engulfing hand sweeping towards her. It struck a plated wrist and brought sparks but no blood, Aida finding the same as she dealt a vicious double swing to its ankle, the segmented bone providing the creature with effective armour.

Spells slammed into its much less protected chest, the impacts leaving smouldering patches of burned away flesh, revealing the deformed musculature beneath. It shrieked and stamped at the ground, forcing them all to dodge those heavy feet as they shook the earth beneath them and threw up plumes of blinding ash. She heard Cassandra snarl moments before the woman rushed forward again, her full weight behind her braced shield as both slammed into one of its spiny knees, two of the bone plates cracking before another shield slam broke the largest piece off.

Angel swung again, this time putting every inch of power into Mercy's downward sweep, her eye trained upon that damaged spot, breath expelling in a laboured grunt as steel met the protruding bone plates of its damaged knee and shattered them to the quick.

The air crackled around them and there was no time to dart aside as a long writhing rope of pure energy lashed from the demons clawed hand, it's sparking end catching her in the chest and throwing her onto her back, pain contracting muscles to twitch and jerk, hands clenching around a sword she could not swing. The lightning whip came around on another swing only to be deflected by another barrier, her eyes barely able to offer brief gratitude to the ragged elven mage before her limbs were once again her own and she closed the short distance once more.

The shades were still steadily erupting from the rift, yet they stood little chance, meeting a hail of projectiles and spells the moment they emerged, the shield bearers mopping up any that managed to get through the first wave of piercing death dealt from the lip of the crater. With the flesh of its leg now exposed the chaos at the pride demon's feet became focused, all combatants seizing on the opportunity, slashing at the exposed flesh and dodging from the retaliatory sweeps. One such soldier failed to roll out of the way in time and tumbled past Angel with an almost boneless grace until he lay quite still, eyes wide open and unseeing.

Aida's axe buried itself into the back of it's knee while cassandra's shield side swiped the joint with a sickening sound of contact, bone and cartilage shifting to one side seconds before the leg collapsed out from under it. Even as it roared in agony she saw the tendrils of lightning skipping over its clawed hand. reversing her grip on Mercy, she slammed the greatsword down point first, driving it deep until it met the ground and pinned the hand before it could lash out with its whip again. The squat soldier with the war hammer spun past her as she lent her weight to the pinning blade, the heavy blunted end of his weapon crushing mishapen fingers to a flattened pulp.

Unable to stand and with one hand useless the pride demon had little chance to turn the tide of the fight, its needle filled snout now slashed and bleeding as the soldiers closed in, only now did she risk turning to survey the battlefield eyes hunting for the familiar shape of her brother as she yanked the great sword free.

She caught a glimpse of him near the breach before a Terror loomed before him and blocked her view. The loom was brief however, a vicious swing from a long sword causing one of it's absurd legs to part from its body, the Commander wasting no time in driving the blade through its back as it collapsed forward, Micah scrabbling out of the way of its claws.

**WHAM!**

The blow came from nowhere and threw her onto her back, a screeching tangle of fury and limbs landing astride her body. It swiped filthy claws at her face, one drawing a line from forehead to cheek before she threw her arms up to block the next blow, blood masking her vision in one eye. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she had taken her eye off the battle and hadn't even seen the the tell-tale green light beneath her own feet until it was too late. Metal squealed and buckled as it tried to sink it's teeth into her forearm, the great sword now useless from this angle and she dropped it in favour of grabbing one of those claw tipped hands before it could make another swipe at her face.

Desperate to stop the thing from lunging at her with tooth and claw, Angel wrapped her legs around its waist as if with a lover, and with a scream of effort she reared and spun them, crawling up its thrashing body to pin its arms. It snapped at her hands as she snatched up its head, rearing and driving the back of it's skull into the rock below while it tried to buck her off. It had no chance of deterring her now however, she was angry, at herself yes, but she had no concerns about concentrating that anger into repeatedly slamming the Terror's head into the rock until it produced a wet crunch and those struggling limbs went limp.

Rolling away from the rapidly dissolving corpse, she grabbed Mercy and pushed herself to her feet, half the world now seen through a film of red. The pride demon was mere inches away from death, the soldiers now mobbing its weakened bulk, all eager to be the one to deal the final blow, only Cassandra stepping away as she raised her voice above the chaos of the rift and the fighting.

"Now, seal it now!"

Micah had once again become lost amongst the constantly moving bodies of man and demon, the effect rather like one whole creature that heaved and shifted, bristling with swords and claws, but she felt the rising hum of the rift beneath her feet and lifted her face to the heated wind that whipped at the strands of copper that had come loose from her braid. For the third time that day she felt an indescribable build up that made her skin want to crawl away and her eyes water, yet she found herself moving forwards, dodging soldiers and ducking outstretched claws until her eyes fell upon her brother again.

His legs were half bent, as if he were carrying the weight of the rift itself, and perhaps he was, it occurred to her in that moment that the rifts could well have been fighting back, insofar as a gaping hole in the sky might have some form of sentience. Even from where she stood, Angel could see sweat beading on a face that was screwed up in either concentration or pain and this made her take those last few steps towards him, she never could bear to see him struggle.

The world turned green and then white.

*****

 

** Recruit Jimmy **

**_Dear Mum,_ **

**_Well i doubt i have to tell you that things went tits up pretty quickly here, the news has likely spread like that rash i got when i was 12 and took a piss in that clump of blood lotus. I know you must be worried, but as you can no doubt tell, i made it out in one piece, I'm sad to say that young Victor Wilkes did not, the Inquisition will probably send a letter to his mum but it might be better coming from you. I won't lie mum, there were a couple of times I thought about legging it, especially when i saw my first demon, but then we both know you would have chased me back, likely beating me over the head with your broom the entire way._ **

**_We still don't know what caused the explosion, but the temple is gone and hanging above it is this massive hole in the sky, i can't look at it for long without feeling my heart sink down into my shoes. As you might guess I wasn't too pleased when yours truly was told to guard the bloody thing, I was even less pleased when I drew the short straw to tell Commander Cullen that some mage had dropped out of it. Course, as soon as the mages and Templars heard about it they were a gnats hair away from attacking each other. I don't think I'd ever been so glad to see a demon drop out of a sky at that point._ **

**_I hated being down in that crater, the rocks looked like they were breathing light and the air smelled of burnt flesh and magic. When Bernie started talking about the woman in the rift it was like everyone had been waiting to talk about it, she'd been standing behind the mage before he fell through and...well, some reckoned it looked like Andraste. I asked Bernie why Andraste would appear here of all places and he gave me this knowing look that he always gets when he's being a smart bastard. He said that she was here to help, that she had sent us a Herald in our hour of need. To be honest I wondered if she might not have sent us someone who looked a bit more heraldic, the lad just looked a wrung out dish rag._ **

**_Course that hasn't stopped the idea spreading, now everyone is half convinced, even I can't deny that the woman could have been her, it would make anyone feel better to think she sent someone, even if he did look a few days shy of toilet training. I didn't see much of the fighting down in the crater, but i could hear it well enough, the sound of men fighting for their lives while we stood around and waited for the breach to finally swallow us whole. I'm not a brave man mum, but there's something to be said about hearing your mates fight and die while your standing around with your thumb up your arse waiting for new orders._ **

**_We did get to fight in the end i saw the 'Herald' close one of the rifts, it was a bit like taking a huge slug of brandy on a cold night, seeing the impossible destroyed by just a wave of a hand, made us fight all the harder. I didn't get to see much more than that though, one of those lanky demons stuck his claws in my gut and i was slightly preoccupied with dying._ **

**_I thought about you, thought about never seeing home again, thought about never getting to tell you that your little boy stood fast and fought alongside men who could be legends given time. We might have been common as muck but in that moment we were knights of this battered realm, dying brave seemed an acceptable way to go._ **

**_I was half ready to go when this woman appeared, biggest bloody woman i have ever seen, a Qunari at that. For a moment i thought she was going to finish me off, but then she bent down, laid her hands on my leaking guts and i felt…..well i suppose there are no words to describe someone putting you back together with magic, but she did it. I could have done without her carrying me like a newborn afterwards, but i guess you don't argue with a seven foot woman who could probably punch you through a wall if she had a mind to._ **

**_She put me in the cart with the other injured and wandered off again. The weirdest thing was she never said a word the entire time, not even when i thanked her, for a moment I had to check her lips weren't sewn shut, they do that to their mages see, bloody savage if you ask me._ **

**_We were halfway down the mountain when we felt the world shudder. For a moment it was like the world had become nothing but white, and i nearly did something in my smalls that you spent several patient weeks teaching me not to do when i was a kid. The world didn't end of course, otherwise i wouldn't be writing this and you wouldn't be reading it. The Breach is still there but they say it's it's only a matter of time and power, whatever the hell that means, and now nobody is arguing about who was in that rift behind the boy, they say it's Andraste and who am i to disagree._ **

**_They say we aren't just soldiers anymore, we're the Inquisition, I suppose that's like being a soldier but more official, Bernie reckons that means we fight with Andraste's blessing. I'm not sure about Andraste herself, but i reckon i can put my faith in a man who can close the holes in the sky, even if he is a bit skinny and something of a smart arse by all accounts, we've had worse hero's than him._ **

**_Anyway, i suppose i should send this off soon, the Commander wants us all training which means he's going to be shouting a lot and i'd rather it not be at me. He's a good man, but it's safe to say he has little patience for fools and even less for bad shield work!_ **

**_Be safe and i shall try my best to do the same._ **

**_Your loving son,_ **

**_Jimmy_ **

*****

 

** Cullen **

He was standing at the edge of the frozen lake when he heard the crunching footsteps behind him and turned to see the Trevelyan woman approaching. She was still in full armour, perhaps not comfortable enough in this brief respite to remove it, or perhaps the armour was as much a part of her as his was to him, he'd spent most of his life wearing it in some form or another after all. He found himself suppressing a frown at the sight of her, the easy advantage she had gained over him had only underlined how out of control he had been out there in the woods. As if reading his mind she lifted both hands to signal she was unarmed, her own face grim as she drew up alongside him and cast her eyes up at the breach. When she didn't say anything he followed her line of sight, the baleful green of breach reflecting in hazel eyes, taunting him with its ever present threat. It hung up there like a blade waiting to fall, and none of them had a single clue if and when it would.

They stood that way for several minutes, and tall as she was, Cullen had almost forgotten she was there until snow and gravel crunched beneath her feet when she turned to look at him, the intensity of that pale eyed gaze forcing him to face her, his expression neutral but for eyes that were guarded. He still didn't know what to make of her, she spoke like a noble when she wasn't tapping into his inner child by way of a voice that would make a chantry mother proud. Yet she fought as if she were born to it, and he didn't doubt that if he'd refused to allow her to accompany her brother she would have dragged him away, the consequences be damned.

"You don't like me very much do you. Most military men don't like mercenaries on principle, but i suppose my bruising your pride didn't help"

The question caught him of guard, its brutal honesty laid as bare as a maiden on her wedding night and for the life of him he didn't know what to say to that. Yes she had bruised his pride, but not because she was a woman and not even because she had caught him off guard. No, it was the fact that she had seen him in a moment where he'd lost control, and then she'd demonstrated just what that had cost him, disarmed by a voice from the past. This was not something he was willing to admit of course, doing so would require an explanation that he just couldn't give her, or perhaps wouldn't would be a better word, it had been hard enough to admit his problem to Cassandra, he was not going to offer the same to Trevelyan.

She didn't seem to require an answer from him however, she simply nodded in the face of his silence and returned her gaze to the breach, though he could sense that she had more to say and was slightly ashamed to admit that he briefly considered walking away before she could say it. He was hard pressed when it came to dealing with women at the best of times, this one confused him because she was hard to pin down in his mind.

"The Stone Hounds are not what they once were as far as numbers are concerned, but the people with me are skilled and they have agreed to remain until the Breach has been sealed. They're about as unrefined as you can get with the exception of Morakai, but they are loyal to me, and I am loyal to my brother"

He didn't need her to point out the gently implied threat in those words and she didn't try to elaborate. She was offering her sword and her people, but in truth there was nothing that would tear her from her brothers side short of putting her in a cell. He could have refused on principle but that would have achieved nothing but to force her hand he supposed. She was correct of course, most mercenary bands had the morals of alley cats and pit dogs, there were a few exceptions but not very many in his own experience. It didn't help that half the companies in Ferelden had been bought by rebel mages, making them just as dangerous. Now her patient silence did seem to be expecting some sort of answer and he exhaled a long breath as if to relieve some of the tension enough for it to at least leave his voice when he spoke.

"I am sure that your help will be invaluable, we have a potentially long road ahead and the Herald will need the support of someone...familiar."

He almost jumped when she laughed, the sound low and throaty, it tugged at something in his gut briefly before the frown reappeared and his eyes narrowed while he waited for her to tell him what was so funny. He watched her fight to get herself under control, then she looked at him and burst out laughing again until he folded his arms and glared, he wasn't used to people laughing at him.

"I'm sorry...really i am, but if you were trying for convincing then you failed badly. Might i suggest you leave the lying to your spymaster, you are much better suited to commanding troops."

He bristled at that, the old and all too familiar anger finding purchase on his face as he took a step forward, not entirely sure what he was going to say until he said it.

"Now look here Lady Trevelyan, do you really think you can stroll on in here and.."

"Captain"

The quietly spoken word derailed him for a moment, "I...what?"

"It's Captain Trevelyan, Captain, or simply Angel. I haven't been 'Lady Trevelyan' since the day i turned away from the title at the age of twenty"

He gritted his teeth, not really seeing why the distinction mattered right this very minute.

"Fine, 'Captain', the fact remains that if you are to stay here then you will respect the chain of command, both yourself and your people will be expected to follow orders"

He regretted the words almost as soon as he said them, the sentiment might have been honest but somehow it had come out sounding more childish than he had wanted. Maker's breath, what was it about the woman that prompted either outright confusion or defensive anger? She seemed to contemplate his words for a moment before giving a curt nod.

"Fair enough, I'm not opposed or even unfamiliar to following the chain of command, but just so we are clear. I'm not here for the breach or because I believe Andraste guides the Inquisition. I'm here because my brother is a well meaning fool who was unlucky enough to be given a powerful mark and an inflammatory title that's liable to get him killed. I will follow your lead because despite having a stick jammed so far up your arse it's poking your brain, i believe you mean well. However if you so much as point a butter knife his way and it won't be a chantry mother's voice making your balls recede into your abdomen"

He found himself taking another step forward, fist clenching at his side. He'd never been inclined to hit a woman unless they happened to be waving a weapon at him, but right then the overwhelming desire to swipe that haughty look off her face was strong enough to make those clenched fingers tremble. She noticed it too and stood her ground, her still bloodied face lifting slightly, exposing her chin as if daring him to take a shot. He wasn't even sure what made him angrier, that she would speak to him with no regard to his position, or that she would make such a threat in the first place. He wasn't even sure if he had any right to be angry in the first place, all but certain that his withdrawal and the strain of the past few days were powering most of it.

"Apologize"

The singular word came from behind him and sounded like the hollow whisper of a mountain. He didn't need to turn in order to know that it was the Qunari at his back, though for the life of him he couldn't fathom what he should apologise for, it wasn't as if he had even hit the woman. Therefore he was more than surprised when Trevelyan made a sound of disgust as she looked over his shoulder.

"Morakai, he had my brother at sword point, I won't stand for him bullying Micah into doing…."

He couldn't see what was happening behind him, for some reason he couldn't make himself turn around, but something had stilled the woman's words, though she hardly looked happy about it. In fact he was pretty certain he was now witnessing someone literally swallowing their own words.

"Respect is earned"

The words rang like the toll of a bell and he watched the Trevelyan woman's shoulders sag, her face relaxing bit by bit until she sighed and nodded to the woman behind him, Cullen briefly wondering how someone that big had managed to sneak up on him...again!

"Fine, fine. We don't have to like each other, but i suppose what i said to Cassandra applies here too, our goals are matched after a fashion. I should not have mentioned the stick...or your balls"

He did not miss the faintest hint of a smirk at the corner of her mouth, nor the way that she now looked like a very tall and naughty child being forced into a terrible apology, It was an apology none the less, and the Qunari woman's interruption had been well timed enough for some of his own anger to quieten enough for him to realise he too was acting on the instincts of lyrium withdrawal and exhaustion.

"Lady...Captain, perhaps we should begin again. Your help will be appreciated in the long run, and if you promise never to use that voice again, perhaps i can be persuaded to remove the aforementioned stick eventually"

These words were more genuine even to his own ears, and though he still had his reservations he none the less offered the woman his hand. She regarded it with brief suspicion before her her firm grip closed around his and her face relaxed into an easy smile that made his hand tighten around hers for a moment.

"Well Mother Laurell will be disappointed, she spent many a patient morning teaching me that exact tone until i got it right"

He dropped her hand and raised a brow, the question forming on his lips even when he knew that asking it would be an open invitation for mockery.

"Why on earth would you chose to learn something like that?"

The smile turned into a grin as she took a few steps back and offered a proper salute, fist meeting her shoulder as she bowed at the waist and tilted her ice coloured eyes to his,

"Because there isn't a chantry boy alive that doesn't feel his knees twitch at that sound"

Maker's breath, she was impossible!.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I took a leaf out of Varrics book and embellished the battle at the temple, I just found that one pride demon and a couple of shades to be a pretty pants fight to write about. Not every fight will be this detailed, but this one deserved to have a touch of epicness to it.
> 
> On the subject of Cullen/Trevelyan, I must warn you that i really do mean a slow burn, it will be as gradual as i feel it needs to be in order to have substance. We may explore other relationships in the story, but those two are going to take some time.
> 
> Recruit Jimmy and his letters home will likely be something of a standing joke throughout the game, it's also a good way to wrap up a section of the story.


End file.
